


For God and Country

by fhsa_archivist



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-27
Updated: 2007-07-14
Packaged: 2019-02-05 14:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12796797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: With the vampire law in danger of being overthrown, Jean-Claude and Anita discover a secret that could either help the cause or completely destroy them all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

The two men drove in silence, the only noise the swipe of the wipers against the dirty windshield and the drone of the radio announcing the day's most important events in nice two-minute increments. He'd always thought that interesting. People's lives and futures condensed like Reader's Digest into a few dozen sentences, to be quickly forgotten as the next big event muscled its way into the public's consciousness. All that plus sports and weather on the nines.

 

"Our headline story on World News Tonight is the recent announcement from Montana's State Supreme Court. In a stunning prologue to overturning Addison vs. Clark that has extensive right wing religious support, Montana is attempting to pass a state law once again making Vampirism illegal, in the hopes of eliciting a challenge that would be heard by the U.S. Supreme court and upheld, thus ignoring the stare decisus of Addison vs. Clark. Montana, one of the remaining six states to still have the infamous `varmint' laws on its books, allowing residents to shoot lycanthropes on sight, has been a vocal antagonist to the recent influx of foreign vampires into America…."

 

The report abruptly ended as a gloved hand reached forward and twisted the knob angrily.

 

"About Goddamn time someone in this country came to their senses."

 

Rogers jumped slightly at his companion's gruff words, roused unwillingly out of his middle of the night reverie by the unexpected statement. Beautiful, just beautiful, he griped mentally, careful to keep his innermost thoughts off his face and hidden from the arrogant young officer at his side. He wasn't a stupid man. He just knew as sure as God made little green apples he didn't want to discuss politics with a superior officer, didn't want to have to fake agreement with a viewpoint that was undoubtedly in conflict with his own, and he sure as hell didn't want to be driving this piece of shit Marine Jeep in the dead of night with only the high and mighty for company. Just another glorious day in the Corp. Normally he wouldn't bitch. He was a bright boy, and the Corp gave him an education he damn well couldn't have afforded on his own. And compared to Afghanistan, his current tour was a cushy assignment. Basic transport and relocation; just drive and survive. But not at two a.m. in the raw elements with a man who thought enlisted men all had single digit IQs.

 

"If you say so, Sir," Rogers answered noncommittally. Personally, he figured to each his own and as long as you obeyed the laws of whatever God, personal morals, and/or country you subscribed to, you should be able to do or be whatever the hell you wanted to be. But he somehow doubted his Captain was of the same opinion.

 

"Not a big thinker, are you, Corporal?" Glenn laughed at Rogers' indifferent answers.

 

Nope, not rising to it Captain. "Not generally, Sir, and sure as hell not a two a.m." It was foggy out, with a misty drizzle, and the headlights on his Jeep barely allowed sufficient visibility in the deep night gloom. Hell, even the infamous Chesty Puller would bitch, mentally genuflecting at the mention of the Marine Corps most famous Congressional Medal of Honor recipient. Well, maybe not, but he damn well should have. And worse part of it was he had no clue what was waiting for them at the end of the trip, or how long they still had to go.

 

"Slow down, Marine. You'll be glad to know we've arrived," Glenn answered jovially. The sick bastard almost sounded like he was having a good time. "Turn right onto that access road and follow it down to the building at the end."

 

Rogers braked at slowly turned the Jeep onto the directed path. He was getting that edgy feeling. They were in the middle of nowhere heading to an unmarked building in the woods. It was pretty much a given that nothing good ever came of a scenario like this. He nursed the Jeep slowly along the dark twisty roadway, mindful of wildlife and not about to invite additional disaster by accidentally running them into a ditch. It took almost ten minutes, but they finally came upon a large, dimly lit warehouse like building.

 

"This is it Corporal. Pull in here and park next to that vehicle by the side entrance," he was instructed.

 

Yep, Rogers thought as he eyeballed their destination, this whole gig was just getting worse and worse. The building the Captain instructed him to pull up to looked unsettling in its innocuousness and decidedly un-military appearance. Non-descript, it was obviously designed to blend in and look benign. Like every FBI or CIA operative he'd ever encountered and quickly endeavored to forget. He hated this don't ask, don't tell clandestine crap, but it wasn't like he hadn't been primed. Orders that came late and with a non-disclosure clause rarely were run of the mill.

 

But even with that bit of forewarning, the wavering red lights of the waiting ambulance took him by surprise. It went against his better judgment to ask, but he hated flying this blind, and if he was transporting the injured he damn well needed to know more than he was currently privy to.

 

"Hey, Captain, what's up with the meat wagon? I thought our orders were for a prisoner transport," he questioned as neutrally as he could manage as they exited the Jeep and made their way over to the idling vehicle. His level of unease ratcheted up a higher notch as he took in the fact that it bore no military markings; rather the insignia of Mercy Medical, a civilian hospital in St. Louis. Rogers could feel the acid in his stomach churn as his prior nervousness threatened to erupt into full-fledged anxiety. This stank of subterfuge shit they rarely involved enlisted men in, and for about the hundredth time that night he fervently wished to be transported somewhere far, far away from his current locale.

 

And worse, he'd been right. It was a mistake to open his mouth, and all he could do was wince at the derisive look Captain Glenn shot his way. Jesus, but he should have known better. Glenn was young, arrogant, wet behind the ears, and at least in his own mind on the fast track to better things in the Corp. As far as he was concerned, Enlisted men were expected to be attentive, obedient, and above all silent. Well, he'd known better than to question orders, and mentally resigned himself to a sarcastic tongue lashing from the silver barred prick.

 

It didn't take long. Glenn clapped his gloved hands mockingly. "Brilliant observation, Lance Corporal. Did you also happen to notice the bars on the back windows and the reinforced sides?" Captain Glenn said scathingly. "Now, using your exceptional powers of deduction, would you care to take a guess on why you were flagged for this duty?"

 

Motherfucking Officers were all alike, Rogers fumed, careful to maintain his bland mask. "Sorry, Captain Glenn. I expect I was chosen for this assignment because of my prior background as an ambulance driver, Sir."

 

"Very good, Corporal. You may actually make Sergeant one day," Glenn snorted as he opened the back of the vehicle. "I doubt it, though. You seem to lack the proper temperament to go all that far as an enlisted man in the Corp."

 

Rogers stifled a groan. Glenn had picked up on his tone; he was going to have to be more careful or it was going to be a long, tedious drive consisting mostly of this jerk trying to push his buttons the entire trip. "I'm sorry, Captain. I'll work on that. But if I could get back to my original question, Sir, why an ambulance? Is the prisoner injured?"

 

He never could just let well enough alone, and he got the response he expected for pushing the issue. "You ask too many fucking questions, Rogers," Glenn said abruptly as he climbed inside.

 

Ha, I'll just bet you don't fucking know either, Rogers smirked. And it pisses you off that you're in the dark about this, just like I am. "Yes, Sir. I'll have to work on that as well. Thank you for pointing that out to me, Captain Glenn."

 

Rogers hid a smirk as he heard Glenn's muffled retort from inside. "You're trying me, Corporal," he warned, as he tugged on the bars separating the front of the vehicle from the back. "The prisoner will be delivered shortly, and we'll be on our way to complete our mission and hopefully never darken each other's doorstep again. So what do you say we pass the time in silence, shall we?"

 

Cursing silently to himself, Rogers made his way to the driver's side to check the fuel level and communications radio. This was going to be one fucking excruciating trip. It was too much to ask that they'd be headed back to headquarters. No, that would be too easy, so once again he didn't know where they were headed, so he had no clue how long it would take. And damned if he'd ask anything of that stuck up college boy commissioned piece of shit. He'd just have to be content with knowing when he got there. Now if they'd just bring the bastard up so they could be on their way.

 

He soon got his wish. "Heads up, Corporal," Glenn's voice startled him from the back. "Front and center; the prisoner's here."

 

Three men were exiting the building and heading towards them, pushing along a gurney that held a securely strapped hooded and manacled man. "Some prisoner," Rogers muttered nervously. Something was definitely weird about this assignment. Even though he could tell the guy's pale body was muscled, he couldn't have been more that 5'7", 5'8" tops, and not only did they have him strapped in tighter than Frankenstein's monster, but an IV of something was being fed into his right arm, and three more bags of whatever drug they were using were nestled between the prisoner's legs. He didn't get it; the guy was half naked, only clothed in briefs and his obligatory I.D. tags, and had no discernible injuries. Even odder, a tattooed bar code graced his left bicep and right pectoral muscle. He wondered what branch of the military, if any, the prisoner served under, and what Hannibal Lechter crime he'd committed to warrant his current treatment.

 

A weary looking Lieutenant saluted as he came to a halt in front of them. "Captain Glenn? Good to see you, Sir. Could you provide the proper ID and authorization code and sign here acknowledging receipt of 019-WW?" He held a clipboard out to Glenn who hastily flashed his credentials and scribbled his name and pass code in the obligatory spot. The Lieutenant cast his gaze back and forth the between the two of them, and asked, "Which one of you has medic training, so I can go over the IV's and when they have to be switched? The sooner we get this done, the sooner you get started, and the less chance there is of a problem with the drugs."

 

Rogers saluted as he stepped forward. "That would be me, Sir," Rogers waved, shrugging off the chill fingering his spine and coming in for a closer look. "Can I ask what's wrong with him, Lieutenant? Is there any medical history I need to be briefed on or symptoms I should be aware of?"

 

The Lieutenant snorted. "Hell no, Corporal. The only thing you need to do is keep the Thorazine wide open on this one, and make God Damned sure it doesn't run out. He's running through bags every forty-five minutes. That dosage seems to keep him nice and sleepy. You have enough with the fresh one we just hooked up and the two others provided to get where you're going. The third's an emergency spare, and I have an injection packet of stronger stuff in case you need it. You'll be fine otherwise."

 

What the hell? What human being can handle that much Thorazine being pumped into him without coding? Rogers thought, then took a closer look at the bound man. He not only was strapped to the gurney, but chained as well. Chained with manacles that were silver, a bright, shiny color that shimmered in the wet. At least where they weren't blood encrusted. The prisoner's neck, wrist, and ankles were rubbed raw and oozing from the shackles.

 

The proverbial light bulb went off in Rogers's brain. Well, fuck, it made sense now. They were transporting a lycanthrope. Pretty much the only symptom he had to worry about was sprouting fangs and claws. But shifter or not, there was a protocol to follow here. He leaned in, not willing to take responsibility for the man's life without first satisfying himself of his vitals, and lifted a wrist to check the man's pulse. A low moan of pain accompanied his action.

 

Rogers' gut clenched at the sound. He was enough of a medic to firmly believe in the `Cause No Harm' credo, and he knew instantly that the poor bastard was in a world of hurt. This went beyond simple transport and into the dark realm of torture. "Jesus, Captain, this man's suffering. He ain't going anywhere, not with the amount of drugs being shoved into his system. Can we lose the chains? Please, Sir?"

 

Glenn didn't even bother to look up from the paperwork he was handing back. "Kind of squeamish for a Marine, aren't you Corporal? What do you care if the furry's in pain or not? He's not human."

 

Rogers chose to ignore the disdain in the man's tone. It wasn't like it was the first time he'd encountered it that night, and he didn't want to do anything to push the Captain into denying his request. "Do you have any idea the agony he has to be in to feel silver through that much tranquilizer? I was a paramedic before the Marines, and I spent a lot of time making sure people weren't in pain. This is just overkill, and plain cruel. Come on Captain, have a heart," he pleaded, laying a comforting hand on the prisoner's covered head.

 

Surprisingly, he found he had an unexpected ally when the Lieutenant spoke up. "To be fair, orders didn't say anything about the manacles. The civilian researchers inside insisted on them for all the subjects. The candy asses damn near wet themselves every time they had to work on the shifters, and it was their fucking project."

 

Rogers stiffened at the man's words, surprised the officer was talking so freely in front of them, and to the depth of his soul wishing he hadn't heard them. He knew there was bad mojo in this place, and the Lieutenant just confirmed it. There was some sort of high end need to know crap going down, and he most assuredly would be happy to stay in the doesn't need to know column. All he wanted was a little mercy for the prisoner and to get the hell out of Dodge.

 

Captain Glenn's eyes traveled between the two of them, and Rogers could just guess at the internal debate going on. If he insisted on keeping the cuffs on the man, then he was tacitly admitting he lacked the balls to show more courage than the namby-pamby scientists running this place. But if he took them off, would he be showing weakness by showing mercy? In the end, it came down to the fact that no way was he going to risk military emasculation by putting his machismo on a par with a bunch of white coats.

 

"Suit yourself Corporal. If it will keep you from crying the whole trip," he mocked. "Now get him loaded up so we can be on our way."

 

Rogers blew a quick breath out in relief. If the Captain wanted to think him soft, so be it. He still got what he wanted. The Lieutenant handed him one of they keys, and together they quickly moved to remove the shackles binding the man. As each piece of silver was peeled away from his skin, the drugged man's body visibly relaxed.

 

Rogers handed the chains to the patiently waiting Privates, and was about to push the gurney into the waiting ambulance when the Lieutenant's next words made his blood run icy.

 

"Ok, help me get the hood off so we can remove the gag as well."

 

Rogers felt nauseated. They'd gagged the poor bastard with silver?

 

Sure enough, as the hood was removed, he could see the silver bar held firmly in place by leather straps. It was medieval in its brutality, and he hissed in anger at the sight of the dark haired man's swollen lips and burned tongue. Saliva ran freely from the bleeding corners of his mouth as his body fought to expel the painful piece of metal, and he quickly moved to undo the buckles holding it in place. "Sweet Madonna, Lieutenant, what the hell is going on here? Since when does the Corp torture our own?"

 

The Lieutenant shook his head sadly. "Corporal, you don't know the half of it. They ought to shoot the bastard who approved this project. And this poor soul is only in for more misery; you're transporting him to the St. Louis Lycanthrope facility. Apparently they have better `behavior modification' facilities there. Rumor is he was less than cooperative about changing on demand."

 

Rogers shivered. He'd heard about that shifter hell. And hated that this man was a Marine. The Corp was supposed to take care of their own. Always. "Since when does the military recruit lycanthropes?" he asked as he secured the hood once more over the man's head, hoping the dark would both comfort and calm him.

 

They lifted the gurney into the back of the ambulance, and began to secure it. "They don't, Corporal. That's the kicker. They don't."


	2. Chapter 2

Rogers kept his eyes glued to the passing scenery, counting down the miles until the reached their St. Louis destination. He was once again stoically silent, not wanting to look at or engage his superior officer in any conversation. He didn't like the implications of the Lieutenant's last comment, and knew if he talked to Glenn he'd just be tempted to ask questions he had no business asking. Better off all around if he just kept his mouth shut.

 

Unfortunately, some interaction was unavoidable. "We'll have to pull over soon, Captain. I need to change his bag in another fifteen," he warned, the first words he's spoken since they had exited the military facility.

 

"Understood, Corporal. I'll do so at the first secluded place," Glenn agreed. He looked askance at the pensive man. "You're uncharacteristically quiet. Run out of stupid questions? Or are you just a critter lover?"

 

Rogers narrowed his eyes at the man's tone. Yeah, asshole, my brother's a shifter, not that I'd ever tell you. Bet you had cross burning relatives in your lineage, didn't you? But no sense in giving the man any ammunition to mar his career in the Marines. He'd done well for himself these past seven years. "No Sir, just find this mission distasteful and want it over with smoothly and as soon as possible."

 

"What, it offends the Hippocratic oath you never took? Or does that apply to wannabe doctors as well?" Glenn teased nastily as he signaled and pulled over into a rest stop.

 

"Yes, Sir," he said quietly, unbuckling his seat belt and holding his hand out for the key to the back. "It does."

 

Rogers held himself back from slamming the passenger door as he jumped out. He'd done what he could for the poor guy, and he was bound and determined to make sure his trip was as comfortable as possible. God knows what he had in store for him, or what he'd done to deserve this, but he wasn't about to add to his misery.

 

"Easy dude, just me," he spoke quietly, and unnecessarily, as he levered himself up into the back. The shifter was out of it, trapped in his own little drug-induced hell. But even comatose his body still fought the effects of the IV, his breaths coming in rapid pants as his system tried to purge the Thorazine being forced upon it.

 

Gently, Rogers removed the almost spent bag and swiftly replaced it with a fresh one. There was only a single brief hiccup in the drip before the drug was once again flowing into the man's veins. "You poor fucker," he murmured, grabbing a towel to mop the sweat off of the prisoner's heaving chest. He hummed mindlessly, hoping to calm and soothe him, like you would a sick child or pet. He couldn't take long, be he gave what little comfort he could before locking him in once again.

 

Even that small amount of time was apparently too much. A sharp rap on the window and a shouted "He all secure back there?" showed just how impatient Glenn was.

 

"Five by Five, Captain," Rogers assured hastily. "He doesn't know what planet he's on right now."

 

"Good. Let's keep it that way, shall we?" He shook his head in disgust as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Bad enough I drew animal transport, but I have to take him to St. Louis, the faggot vampire capital of the world? I'd like to know what Major or Colonel I pissed off," he grumbled.

 

Contradicting his prior vow of silence, Rogers blurted out a baffled, "What are you talking about Sir? What's so different about the vamps in St. Louis?" as he buckled himself back into the passenger seat.

 

Glenn laughed aloud at the question. "That's right, you're not from around here are you? The head vampire, Jean-Claude, is a pretty boy who thinks his shit don't stink. Damn that law; we should just stake the lot of them."

 

Rogers tried to bite his tongue, but he couldn't resist. He knew there were a lot of people out there who agreed with the Captain's opinion of the law, but the homophobic comment just shoved him right over the edge. The man was just such a damned bigot. "Do vampires even shit, Sir?" he deadpanned. "I mean, they just drink blood as sustenance. Do they even have to?"

 

Glenn snarled as he whirled around, shaking a finger at his unrepentant companion. "Listen, you enlisted piece of shit, I don't want to hear another…

 

Gotcha, Rogers though as bit his lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. Suddenly, something darted out into the roadway out of the corner of his eye. Shit, a deer! "Captain, LOOK OUT!" he screamed out in warning.

 

Too late. Glenn laid on the brakes and jerked the wheel hard to the right, to no avail. They hit the unfortunate beast broadside, careening it up onto the hood and smashing into the windshield. The harsh impact caused the vehicle to go completely out of control, spinning then rolling its way off the roadway. The nauseating sensation of out of control tumbling and the sickening fear that they were going to die was the last coherent thought Rogers had before he was knocked unconscious.

 

************************************************************************

 

He woke slowly, the fog graying his brain making his thoughts and motions sluggish. Pain. Fear. Danger. These were the sole simple emotions his instincts could assimilate.

 

The smell of gasoline and death filled his nostrils. He didn't know how long he'd been out; he just knew he had to get away. He tensed his arms against the restraints, harder and harder, his corded muscles straining with the effort until the shackles holding him prisoner snapped and he was free. Blackness, blindness, helpless...half panicked hands ripped the hood from his head, and light deprived eyes squinted in the dark trying to take stock of his surrounding. He kicked forcefully at the straps imprisoning his legs, his still drug addled brain unable to comprehend that he could simply undo the buckles. Flee, was all he could manage. Into the woods. Safe in the trees; hidden in the trees.

 

Bruised and disoriented, he tumbled out of his prison into the fresh air of the night. His lungs gulped in deep draughts of cool air, the oxygen helping to clear his thoughts. His instincts screamed shift, but a familiar scent and a pained voice drew his attention.

 

Almost inaudibly, the words "Help me. Please, help me," penetrated his brain. It was the good man, the one with the soft voice and gentle touch that had soothed his nightmares. Staggering, he made his way to where the sounds were emanating from.

 

Rogers was in excruciating pain. The Captain was dead, his head hanging at an odd angle from a broken neck, and he knew if he didn't get free soon he wasn't going to be far behind. At minimum his leg was broken, as well as a few ribs. Breathing was a chore, and he couldn't tell if he'd punctured a lung or if the seatbelt was just cutting off his air. That he was concussed was a given. Feebly, half knowing it was futile, he called out once again.

 

"Anyone?" he coughed, nearly blacking out with the agony that engendered. It was hopeless. He was going to die here, bleeding out his life next to a man he barely knew and wished he had never made the acquaintance of. Suddenly a face appeared in the cracked window, and with a scream of metal the door was yanked away. Eyes blurry, he blinked as his savior's dark haired features became familiar, and strong hands ripped the seat belt from its mooring and pulled him out into the safety of open ground.

 

`Shit', he whimpered inside, `it's the shifter. At least he's still alive, but God help me I'm bloody.' His brother Paul was a wererat, and while he wasn't overly forthcoming with information, often told him how intoxicating blood was to a lycanthrope. It took a lot of willpower to overcome the need, especially under adverse circumstances.

 

And this sure as hell qualified as adverse.

 

Staggering slightly, the lycanthrope carried him to the roadway, limping and whining softly with the effort. Even though he was careful, Rogers couldn't quite stifle a moan of pain as his former prisoner laid him down, then completely startled him when he blearily leaned in and licked across his lips and chin.

 

What the fuck was that? Rogers thought as he watched the half naked man roll away from him, his back rippling in preparation of a change. He'd never seen a shift before, and he shut his eyes in surprise as he was bathed in a warm fluid. Blinded by the viscous liquid, he reached up to wipe the gunk off, and gasped as his hand encountered something furry directly in front of this face. A tongue began to rhythmic bathe him, accompanied by a soft whine of fear.

 

As soon as he was able, he opened his eyes to the biggest wolf he had ever seen. Intelligent deep brown eyes looked at him, then the woods, clearly torn between abandoning Rogers and securing his freedom by running away.

 

Rogers was touched by his loyalty. All he'd done was show the man some humane kindness. Poor bastard. "Go on, beat it. You've done what you can for me, and you deserve the shot. Get out of here while you can!"

 

The wolf limped off, then came back, a deep throated whine vocalizing his indecision. Sirens were sounding in the distance; some good Samaritan had called the accident in. If the werewolf lingered any longer, he was going to be in worse trouble than he'd been before. He was going to be dead. Rogers made up his mind for him. "I don't know who you are, and I've got to be crazy, but you need to get the fuck out of here," he said, picking up a rock and flinging it at the shifter.

 

The wolf startled, jumping backward, then belly crawled forward towards the prone man once again. "No, you idiot! Get out of here! Go on. Run!" Rogers screamed, scoring a direct hit on the were's flank. At least the beast was backpedaling now, and he continued to shout as he reached for another projectile.

 

He needn't have bothered. His rescuer got the hint, and turned tail, loping slowly and painfully away into the woods.

 

"Good luck, whoever you are," he said softly. "I hope you make it."

 

**********************************************************************

 

He was alone, and wounded, in unfamiliar territory. The other made him leave. He had to find a haven. To find others, who would take him in and succor him. But he was lost, and frightened, and he lifted his muzzle to the night and howled his fear and anguish.

 

As he warbled off, something pricked at his mind. A calling, an offer of comfort. But who? Where? He circled, trying to get a sense of direction. There. Towards the noise and stench and bright lights. Someone beckoned.

 

Ignoring the pain, he ran.


	3. Chapter 3

He had chosen the setting carefully. Too often, non, almost exclusively of recent times, he had had to share Anita with the many other men in her life, and for once it was almost as of old; just Anita, himself, and a romantic setting in a restaurant. Granted, he did not begrudge the others. For the most part they constituted a symbiotic relationship he did not in general rail against. He understood and most times encouraged the necessity of their presence to cement relationships and deepen the binding of the triumvirates. But merde, he was still a man, with a man's ego and pride.

 

Which was why he had poured so much effort into preparing for this night. One did not squander fate when the stars aligned themselves in your favor. All of the others had commitments, or plans, and he and he alone had sole claim to Anita's presence this evening. And he was nothing if not an opportunist; presented with the chance he had chosen the venue and setting carefully. Café de France was one of the few opulent restaurants Anita did not balk at dining at, and he was lavish enough with his gratuities that they were always treated as royalty when they dined there. He had even given the utmost consideration to the menu, mindful to choose dishes that they both found delectable. He knew his Ma Petite well; she had only balked at the dessert he had desired. So be it; he too could `compromise'. It was an ability he had well cultivated over the centuries.

 

The Roast Duck was flawless, the skin crisp and golden, the flesh cooked to perfection and succulent. The Pinot Noir he'd selected danced a minuet with the main course on the palate, and even the alcohol despising Anita agreed to a second glass. The food was divine, the surroundings cozy and opulent, and the mood should have been très romantique with seductive conversation and stolen kisses in the dark.

 

Instead, she had seemed distracted and in a hurry to leave. Two inconceivable occurrences that had him disgusted and more than a tad dejected.

 

But not entirely defeated. "Did you not enjoy the evening, Ma Petite?" Jean-Claude whispered in Anita's ear, his arm encircling her slim waist as he guided her back to the waiting limousine. The beginnings of a frown tugged at the corners of his elegant mouth. He had hoped for so much for this evening, and he was weary of his wishes being dashed to unrecognizable pieces.

 

Anita canted her head away from his lips, her eyes sparking with an annoyance he found baffling. Almost as baffling as her question, "Didn't you notice the Mayor?"

 

Jean-Claude sighed dramatically, his hand cradling his wounded heart. "For the first time in ages I have you to myself, and your thoughts are for another man?" he moaned, his tone aggrieved and long suffering. "Your words slash me to my damned soul."

 

His comments finally penetrated Anita's preoccupied brain, and she furrowed her brows in exasperation. "What? No! Don't be absurd, Jean-Claude. Tell me you didn't notice the way he studiously pretended not to see us, and had the waiter take him to another table. I assumed it had bothered you as well from the glazed look you'd taken on a few times tonight."

 

Ah, so his human servant was not as oblivious to his expressions as he had thought. "You imagine things, Ma Petite. So the man did not wish to speak to us. This is now a crime in your eyes?"

 

Unfortunately, Anita was neither daunted nor distracted by his reply, and began ticking her rebuttal off on her fingers. "So, you contribute greatly to him, so he owes you a polite howdy-do. So, he normally falls all over you whenever there is a public opportunity and a chance of a photo. So, it seems a little suspicious that right on the heels of all the anti Addison vs. Clark hype circulating through the political circles he snubs you in a very upscale, very public place."

 

That was true. He had noticed the blatant change of direction, but knew enough of the machinations of government that you did not show weakness to an opponent or ally, and you never made a scene in the public eye. "Ma Petite," he consoled, "the man is a politician. There is no benevolence, or long term honor with politicians or royalty. There is only what is immediately expedient and what is not. So, at the moment it is not wise for him to be obvious about his dealings with a vampire. And yet this has not stopped him from seeing that we've gotten the necessary variances for the demolition of Incubus Dreams, and the building of its replacement club."

 

Anita paused in front of the limousine door, stiffening against the subtle pressure of his hand as he pushed against the small of her back to encourage her to enter the vehicle. Anger bubbled up inside her, and she squelched a first impulse retort at the implied dominance. It wasn't intended as such, she knew that to her core, but ever since the addition of the second triumvirate her lycanthrope emotions had strengthened considerably.

 

To his credit, Jean-Claude recognized her inner turmoil and changed his motion soothing strokes as he leaned in and softly cajoled, "Ma Petite, please. The poor man is patiently waiting to close the door."

 

What the hell was he talking about, she thought, then gave a startled look at said driver. It was true. Ernie was like a statue, studiously pretending not to notice the disagreement, his eyes schooled downward as his hand rested patiently on the doorframe.

 

Chagrined, she hurriedly apologized as she bent her small frame to enter limousine. "Sorry Ernie. We're ready now."

 

Ernie gave her a big grin and shrugged stoically. No harm, no foul. He got paid by the hour. "Not a problem, Ms. Blake. Back to the Circus, Boss?"

 

"Oui, Ernie. Home." Jean-Claude ordered as they both slid smoothly into the soft leather seats. Anita let her body sink into the plush comfort they provided, and allowed herself a low moan of contentment. She hated taking advantage of the decadence Jean-Claude

offered, but damn it, it was hard not to sometimes. She was only human. Sort of.

 

***********************************************************************

 

He ran. Ran until his lungs burned and his muscles corded with the effort. Ran until his pads were bloody and raw. But he couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop, pain be damned. The sights and smells and sounds surrounding him were overwhelming, in a way that a blind mind who was suddenly blessed with the gift of sight would be inundated with the true colors of life. He'd never dreamed the world offered this. Never imagined he could experience life as this. And he couldn't get enough of it.

 

The woods had been more inviting, but the call, the inchoate draw he felt could not be denied. The concrete and noise held less comfort than the heady smells of earth and game that the forest had offered, but even if the sensations were less intoxicating, they were still heady to his confused mind. He'd been sequestered in the antiseptic environment of the lab since he'd been turned, and his nose had become numb from the odor of disinfectant and the stink of fear. He had no idea he could be like this. Be able to feel and sense like he was. It was exhilarating, and even wounded and terrified, he felt a deep perception of joy and aliveness, as though this is what he was meant to experience his whole life and had been denied, even though the duality of his nature was but a recent turn of events.

 

His mouth salivated at the intensity of the stimuli that assaulted his enhanced senses, and he licked his nose obsessively to heighten the experience. Garbage, exhaust, other tamed animals that his predator mind dismissed as not a threat. And humanity. The underlying odor of life and blood that had his stomach in knots craving the closeness and a taste. Not to eat; he was still human enough to find that revolting. But to taste the salt of their bodies, the blood of their veins, to imprint who and what they were forever on his consciousness and be of them. To no longer be alone.

 

But not all humanity. Certain ones. Ones who subtly beckoned and invited him to their presence. Ones he could offer allegiance to.

 

Ignoring the pain of his bruised body and bloodied paws, he pressed on.

 

***********************************************************************

 

The start of the ride home at least was a quiet one. Not for long though; Jean-Claude was not about to, as they said, `let this slide'. He leaned provocatively against the closed limousine door and made a disgusted, Gallic noise from deep in the back of his throat to gain Anita's full consideration. "I wine and dine you lavishly. I show you the attention a woman of your caliber deserves, the woman I adore deserves, and in return you demonstrate more interest in the Mayor and more satisfaction in my admittedly expensive but unfeeling vehicle."

 

Anita sighed, then gave a very unladylike, contented burp as a response. "In answer to your question, it was a lovely dinner, Jean-Claude. Your company was all I desired, the conversation was scintillating, but I swear you are taking advantage of me. I never ate this much before you, and I'm flirting with a size eight every time I indulge your whims!"

 

The old argument, undoubtedly dusted off as a ploy for misdirection. He was not about to be thwarted, and arched his refined eyebrows sarcastically as he primly responded, "Ah, your phantom pounds once again. You protest too much, Ma Petite. You are as lovely and tiny as you ever were."

 

Damn, she hated being condescended to. So help her, if he ever used the phrase love handles she was going to just have to stake him, consequences be damned. Holding her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, she lectured, "Sure, and I'm THIS close to using a rubber band on my pant buttons to get them to…"

 

The screech of brakes interrupted her diatribe about the same moment as Jean-Claude's hand blurred out and caught her before she could slide off the seat. Ernie, for some unknown reason, had undertaken jolting evasive maneuvers and tires squealing, ground the limo to an abrupt halt.

 

Ernie slewed around in the driver's seat, his eyes wide, and gasped out, "Boss, did you see what just bolted…."

 

Unperturbed, Jean-Claude answered calmly, "Oui. Stay with Ma Petite."

 

Anita felt her blood pressure skyrocket at his preemptory command. Sure. It was an integral part of her personality to stay secure while the men folk investigated danger. And pigs fly with a donkey honor guard, she thought angrily as she levered herself out of the vehicle, hiking up her dress to gain better mobility. She opened her mouth, another very unladylike retort perched on her lips, when she gasped in shock as he twirled her protectively behind him. "What the hell, Jean-Claude!" she snarled, yanking her Browning out of her thigh holster, her eyes scanning for the threat he had sensed.

 

It was a wolf. A werewolf, to be precise, injured and cringing in the shadows of a nearby alley. It whimpered abjectly; she had to use the neuter term because it was too distant to ascertain the sex.

 

Jean-Claude relaxed slightly, and held out a hand, his eyes bleeding to a solid midnight blue, his hands motioning in a beckoning gesture. Power coalesced around him, and he crooned encouragingly, "Come, my wolf. Do not be afraid."

 

Anita looked at him incredulously. He was fearless for the most part, sure, but come on. Caution was advised around a beast that could rend you limb from limb. "Are you out of your mind, Jean-Claude? You have no idea who he is, but he's not pack; I can tell that much. There's something wrong with him. He looks confused. And you want him to come on over here like a stray mutt or something?"

 

"It will be fine, Anita," Jean-Claude answered calmly. He allowed a small amount of his power to wash over the skittish wolf, confident in his ability to control his animal to call, known or unknown.

 

She wasn't completely mollified, but if she'd learned anything in her relationship with the Master vampire, it was to trust his power and instincts. Not enough to holster her gun, mind you, but enough to lower it from her firing stance. "You don't sound surprised, Jean-Claude. You knew he was lurking about, didn't you?"

 

Jean-Claude nodded complacently. "He is my animal, Ma Petite, and though the tie is not as binding as to the vampires that have sworn to me, it is there none the less. I had felt him in the restaurant, and had allowed my power to invite him to my side, but had not known for sure that he would approach." He looked reproachfully at her still drawn gun. "Your aggression is unwarranted, Anita. He is not here by accident; he has sought me out for protection. He will do us no harm." He gestured at the beast, his voice sympathetic as he watched the wolf dance from side to side in uncertainty and anxiety. "Come, can you not see he is badly frightened? Can you not smell the reek of drugs oozing from his pores? The wretch has been abused. He pulls at me, as I pull at him." He turned his attention back to the wolf, and in a sterner voice said, "Come. Obey me."

 

Belly down, the wolf slowly crawled from the darkness. He, Anita guessed, was beautiful, a true red wolf, his auburn fur tinged with black and copper highlights. He whined incessantly, stopping just at Jean-Claude's feet before rolling over and offering his throat and belly. Jean-Claude bent down, ruffling the fur around the prone wolf's neck, softly asking, "And who might you be, lost one? You are strong, but uncertain. And so very disoriented and terrified."

 

He stood, and clapped his hands authoritatively. There was protocol to be observed. It was vital that you begin relationships in the manner that they would be conducted thereafter. "If you wish to stay, you must greet us properly. I am the Master of this city, and you are my animal to call. Anita is Lupa, and outranks you. Make obeisance and sanctuary is yours."

 

They watched the red wolf roll over, a very human expression of hope in his eyes. There was a moment of hesitancy, as if he was unsure of what was being asked of him, then he stood, nearly reaching her waist in height, and limped over to where they stood.

 

***********************************************************************

 

He felt safe, for the first time in a very long time. The man, and somehow, the woman, would protect him. Of that he was certain. But they wanted something from him, and he was confused at what they expected him to do. Submit, submit, submit chanted in his brain, and instinct clicked in the motion he needed to complete. Moving as slowly and non-threateningly as he could manage in his agitated state, he approached the woman first. She smelled like him, somehow, and seemed less intimidating than the man who his mind ranked as superior to him was. He reached his snout forward, and snuffling softly into her hair, rolled his eyes and began to submissively begher attention by licking her chin and lips.

 

Anita carefully held herself still as the unknown Were gave her an inexperienced but proper greeting. She hated this part; hated it as much as she understood the necessity. It was a form of acceptance to even natural wolves, and calmed and soothed them.

 

But even so, there was a definite gross factor. "Eww, Jean-Claude, why can't they ever just sit there and offer a paw or something?" she complained, wiping her wet chin off on her sleeves. She turned in time to see the slightly less tense wolf back away from the vampire and slump exhausted to the ground.

 

Even though in her heart she felt a twinge of sympathy for the shifter, she still had to voice a small complaint. "And how come he didn't soak you, too?" she asked plaintively, aware that she sounded peeved but not really caring. She'd actually spent time on her makeup that night.

 

"Because I drew away after only a few swipes," he answered with a knowing smile. "More was unnecessary. But now we need to get us all back to the Circus, and to call your Dr. Lillian."

 

He opened the door and silently willed the waiting wolf inside. The shifter got up stiffly, painfully, as if even that short rest had tightened up his abused muscles. But he came, and placed a raw and bloody paw on the door runner before turning to look askance at Jean-Claude, ears plastered to his skull, as if to ask if the man was absolutely sure this was what he wanted him to do. "In, mon loup. We will take you to safety, where you will soon satisfy our confusion."

 

Anita shook her head as she watched the wolf struggle inside. "We need more than that, Jean-Claude," Anita opined. "We sure as hell need Richard, and the Pack."

 

Right on cue, she felt the wash of Richard suffuse her mind. It was rare he initiated contact. Even rarer, it wasn't angry in tone, but concerned, insistent.

 

Jean-Claude had not been the only one to notice a new subordinate in town.


	4. Chapter 4

With the vampire law in danger of being overthrown, Jean-Claude and Anita discover a secret that could either help the cause or completely destroy them all.

Chapter Four

 

Anita froze motionless for a moment, unnerved by the contact and somewhat non-plused that Richard already knew of the wolf's presence. A shifter could sense another when in proximity to that person, but an Alpha, even one as powerful as her Mr. Zeeman, shouldn't automatically know of an incursion into their territory. Richard was dominant enough to call him if he was pack, but she was positive he wasn't. Jean-Claude had felt him because the wolf was projecting, and all wolves were his to command.

 

Even more shocking, Richard was sounding more alarmed than irate in her head. A non-hostile Richard willingly initiating metaphysical contact at a moment of triumvirate need was worth a moment or two of muted silence. Stunned, Anita grabbed Jean-Claude's arm to see if he too was experiencing this unholy miracle. Or was he only broadcasting to her?

 

"It's Richard!" she whispered fiercely, then allowed herself a moment's annoyance at the stupidity of the action. Whispered, shouted, now that she'd allowed the contact he could `hear' her either way. She moderated her voice to a more conversation normal decibel and continued. "Can you hear him as well?"

 

Jean-Claude nodded and gave a huge smile. Apparently the whole family was witness to this momentous event. And them without the digital camera.

 

His voice taking on the lilting tone that meant he was amused, Jean-Claude replied, "Oui. As usual, he wants to know what the hell I was up to, and why he felt alarm from you." A small laugh bubbled out of his chest. Hilarity in a vampire was not often a good sign, and Jean-Claude's amusement fast resembled the `cat who ate the canary' variety. "Apparently I am still a diabolical mastermind of all evil machinations and not to be trusted with your tender presence. But I do admit I am most flattered he considers me a threat and talented in that regard."

 

Anita smiled as his obvious mirth. Men, regardless of the centuries, still had to play the machismo game. "Well, you are a master vampire. And the Master of the City. And a Sourdre de Sang. And the President of the Diabolical Mastermind's club."

 

She'd expected laughter from him; instead, he pulled her possessively into his chest and stole a tender kiss from her lips. She could see his eyes were smoky, the blue threatening to bleed over the entire orb. He was exerting his power ever so slightly, showing off. Probably for her. Definitely for Richard.

 

"Oui, how good of you to notice. Again I am flattered beyond words that you acknowledge my strengths in our somewhat dysfunctional triumvirate." His voice took on the bland silkiness he had perfected at Belle's court; the oily smooth one that stiffened her spine and dried the spit in her mouth. The one where he was about to move in for the kill. "But do you not find it odd, Ma Petite, that Richard was able to feel anything at all from you, considering his formidable abilities at shielding and ignoring our presence?"

 

He had a good point, and she felt a moment's shame that her surprise and anger induced adrenaline surge had disturbed him like that. Sure, she fully intended to get in contact with him, but that was too girly girl a manner by far. Internally, she projected, I am sorry Richard. I had to be broadcasting hard for it to get your attention like that. Didn't mean to shock you, and I hope I wasn't disturbing anything.

 

Jean-Claude shook his head and snorted as he leaned into the back of the vehicle, but refrained from commenting. He grabbed the settled auburn wolf's ruff and stared commandingly into his eyes until he got the desired result. The were licked his lips nervously and canted his eyes sideways to break the contact. Absolute dominance had been demanded and accepted. "You will behave yourself, mon loup. Stay still, and low, and make no commotion that would draw my ire or unwanted attention." Orders relayed, he stroked the bedraggled fur reassuringly and shut the limousine door.

 

"We will ride in front with you, Ernie. The is ample room for Ma Petite and I," he instructed as he motioned Ernie to open the front of the car for them to enter. Then, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, he quickly motioned Anita with a hand to his lips to stay silent, physically and mentally, and continued his prior conversation.

 

Like a cold wind on an autumn night, she felt Jean-Claude's mind in her own. Or perhaps there is another explanation? Perhaps our Richard was not shielding at all this night?

 

Ok, she had no idea where he was heading with this. Perplexed, she began to answer, Why would he not be… when a white hot blast of anger had her swaying on her feet. She may have been befuddled, but apparently Richard knew exactly where Jean-Claude was heading with this.

 

And he wasn't about to keep his metaphysical mouth closed. Just shut the hell up, Jean-Claude! I don't need your insinuations or snide comments when there's obviously a situation at hand.

 

Yep, that sounded like Richard. Even worse, he wasn't denying the accusation, just trying to misdirect the conversations intent. Suddenly the truth of what was going on hit her like a two by four between the eyes, and she felt her own anger bubble up. Damn him. Damn him to hell.

 

Well, she was royally, seeing red pissed now. So be it. Richard knew better then to court that demon within her. His anger was blood hot, but still no match for the inky blackness that bubbled deep inside her own soul.

 

You hypocritical jack-ass. Don't you fucking DARE hide behind this `situation' as you called it! Damn you, you had your shields down SPYING on us this night, didn't you? Spying on ME because I was with Jean-Claude! Admit it. It was only pure dumb luck the emotion you caught was my burst panic when we almost ran the wolf over. Pure goddamn dumb luck it wasn't a burst of ecstasy, huh, Richard? Truly incensed now, she deepened her internal voice and continued nastily, Or was that what you were hoping for? A little metaphysical porn to fuel your jealousy even further?

 

Jean-Claude ran an arm around her waist, and squeezed slightly to distract her, slightly alarmed. He had perhaps unleashed more than he'd intended with his small show of one upmanship. "My Wolf is correct about one thing, Ma Petite. There is no time. Many had to have spotted the wayward loup, and no doubt the police and your fellow RPIT officers are on their way. Unless your desire is to see him in custody, we must go now. With all due speed."

 

She felt a much meeker presence in her head. He's right Anita. Just like fucking Micah, he's always right, isn't he? Get out of there. I'm on my way to the Circus with reinforcements. I'll meet you there.

 

Anita sighed. Richard felt mortified, subdued in her thoughts. As quickly as he had flared up, his anger had been doused by the cold reality of truth. She felt her own subside as well. They were so good together in many ways. About the same number as they were very, very bad for one another.

 

God, but she loved him deeply. About as deeply as she wanted to put a bullet in him.

 

She also knew what was coming next. Remorseful Richard almost always trotted close on the heels of Outraged Richard.

 

I'm sorry, Anita. And I know what you're thinking. I'm always sorry. We'll talk. Again.

 

With the apology she expected him to drop his shields in place once again, but he retained the contact. Anita hurried her way into the limousine, and as soon as Jean-Claude closed the passenger door shut Ernie had the vehicle in gear and quickly accelerating away from the area. Wonder of wonders, no cops or even civilians had wandered by while they were pulled over. Not entirely unusual at night in the blood district, but still providential.

 

She decided it was time to wave a small truce flag. Enough of that Richard. We all acted impulsively tonight. She turned and looked at the huge wolf reclined in the back seat so the Ulfric could `see' the hitchhiker they'd picked up. But back to the matter at hand. Recognize him? Jean-Claude didn't, and neither did I, but to be honestI don't know everyone in Thronnos Rokke on sight either. He just didn't feel like Pack.

 

Richard thoughts suddenly froze in her mind as he saw through their eyes the new wolf.

 

She could almost see his eyes turning wolfy, amber, as his Alpha nature took hold and he growled back aggressively, You're not wrong. He's definitely not pack.

 

Jean-Claude interjected soothingly, "Non, he is a stranger, although I believe refugee would be a more accurate term. He came to me for sanctuary, Ulfric, and I will not deny him. He is my animal to call, and I have never shirked the responsibility, as much as you would like to infer that it is a one-sided relationship."

 

Richard chuffed in annoyance. I don't care if he came to the Pope for asylum, Jean-Claude, he's in my territory unannounced and without permission, and that makes him either a challenger or a rogue. He doesn't feel new, so he can't hide behind that. And Pack Law is what takes precedence here, not your own ego.

 

It was a bad night when it was Anita that had to mediate. "Stop the sniping boys. Richard, we don't know who or what he is other than he's drugged up, hurt and scared. We need you at the Circus, and we need to get him under wraps and looked over by Lillian. And I need to let Micah know as well. The coalition may get as many calls as the police from people who spotted him."

 

Right on cue at the end of her diatribe, her cell phone began to ring, the annoying tones of Cat Scratch Fever making her ears bleed. She had no idea who the joker was, and even less of a clue on how to change it. Jason denied responsibility, and for once she believed him, simply because she had no inkling how he could have pulled it off.

 

It was Micah. Not unsurprising, but sure to add gasoline to the fire as soon as Richard realized it was him.

 

"Micah?" She answered, then waited for the mental fireworks to begin once again. Jean-Claude wasn't the only male who had earned Richard's jealousy. But for once, she was disappointed, and happily so. She felt Richard stiffen mentally, but he quickly shielded his thoughts and kept a civil mental tongue. Progress at last this night.

 

Micah's relief at hearing her voice was palpable. "Anita? Good! Zerbrowski called me for help; there have been reports of a werewolf running loose in the city. Richard isn't answering my calls, but I did talk to Sylvie, and she and I both figure it can't be pack. She's gathering a search party and promised to get a hold of Richard, and I said I'd track you down. Be careful, we don't know who or where this guy is."

 

She quickly moved to assure him. "It's under control, Micah. Who is still up for grabs. Where is in the back of Jean-Claude's limousine. He, and it is a he, came straight to Jean-Claude like a moth to a flame."

 

She could hear Micah breathe easier at her calm tone, and the knowledge that the shifter emergency was contained. His coalition was new, and like anything in its infancy, perilous in its standing. A very public, very unflattering lycanthrope situation would send the lycanthrope organization to an early grave. The Weres couldn't afford that. They needed the visibility of Micah and his amiable glad handing and assistance. Micah as usual went straight to the point. "If you know, then I'm sure Richard knows. Are you taking him to the Circus? I'll meet you there. Just tell me what you need me to do."

 

***********************************************************************

 

Anita stared speculatively at the prone wolf. He appeared to be either passed out or sleeping, his chest moving up and down rapidly as his body panted in an effort to oxygenate his blood and negate the lingering effects of the drugs.

 

"So our new boy is a mystery wolf all around. Zerbrowski doesn't know who he is, Richard only knows he isn't pack, and Micah hasn't a clue either." She settled back into her seat. "Do you think he's a local that was turned and keeping it under wraps? Richard had a good point in that he's not new, that's for sure. He was too aware and contained to be a first shift."

 

"I do not know Ma Petite. But he was fleeing as if he were being hunted by the devil's own hounds. And yet I saw no pursuers. Did you?"

 

It was a good point. Shifters didn't normally run pell mell unless they had a badass chewing at their tails. "No, I didn't either. But he sure was trying to get away from something and get to you."

 

************************************************************************

 

It didn't take them long to get home, and she was relieved to see that Richard was waiting outside the Circus. She was less than happy with his appearance and demeanor. He was dressed for a shift. Barefoot and shirtless, he was clad only in jeans and had his arms crossed defiantly against his muscled chest as he leaned tensely against his SUV with a slit eyed, annoyed expression. Body language was everything to shifters, and what the Ulfric was radiating was guaranteed to have even the most stalwart of Thronnos Rokke going low in appeasement.

 

And it was only Richard. They were alone in the lot, which was a miracle unto itself. By now one bodyguard or another would be in attendance, as well as a vampire flunky or two. And he'd said he was bringing reinforcements; where were they? This was a potentially risky situation for an Ulfric, and he should have been bracketed by his Skoll and Hati as backup. Something wasn't right.

 

Jean-Claude exited first, his own power curled around him like a shield, coiled like a whip and ready to be used if needed. "Richard," Jean-Claude warned. "I have told you. There is no need. And where are my people? And yours?"

 

Richard never took his eyes off the limo. "Jamil came with me, but I told him to go inside and keep Jason secure and the Rodere away. This is a pack matter, and the wererats respected that. Your vampires balked a bit, but Claudia talked them down." He levered himself upright and flexed impressively to loosen up. "Besides, you yourself just said there wasn't any need. Now bring. Him. Out."

 

It wasn't looking like he could be swayed, but Anita tried to intervene anyway. "Richard, you're being an ass. He's not a threat, and until he's shifted back and we can talk to him, let's be reasonable and give him the benefit of the doubt, shall we? He has hurt anyone that we know of." Ok, maybe not as diplomatic as she intended, but the gist of her meaning was still there.

 

"That you know of. Which, since he's only be with you're a short hour, you don't really know. Regardless," he began ticking off points on his fingers, "He's wolf, he's public, and he's in my territory. I will allow he may be ignorant, but that ends now. Bring him out."

 

A loud thump and muffled growl sounded from the limo, and they all twirled in unison in time to see Ernie scramble out, his eyes comically wide in panic. Apparently the decision was made for them. The `him' in question wanted out as well.

 

Richard watched wolf clamber awkwardly over the dividing seats, then stumble out of the driver's side door Ernie had left open. The unknown he was a good looking SOB. Unusual coloration, and well formed with taut muscles and a good amount of bulk to him. He had noticeable power, too, though he wasn't showing much now as he righted himself slowly on wobbly legs. Richard's eyes softened slightly at the shifted wolf's obvious disorientation. It was true; the bastard wasn't all there. He scented the air, and his nostrils curled in disgust at the stink of drugs. But it didn't matter; innocent or not, he had been dangerously visual to the human population. Werewolves were fine, to a certain out of sight degree. Ones careening through St. Louis streets fell squarely in the too dangerous for words category.

 

Ignorant or not, there was no time like the present to learn pack structure and protocol. He was Ulfric here; his word and desires were law. Time for lesson Number one.

 

He late a taste of his power slap out against the wolf. "Come here."

 

************************************************************************

 

It felt good to be out of the vehicle. Inside he was trapped. No room to fight, no way to flee. Outside he stood a chance. He curled his lip slightly as he eyed the big man, even as his nose quivered in excitement. This one was a threat, but he was like him. Like the others.

 

He shivered at the memories. He'd fought them, barely able to control the need to dominate. His insides quivered with the familiar fear, the atavistic instinct to fight to survive. Something had gone wrong, bad wrong. The one he'd been drawn to was angry, as angry as the new one. His fur stiffened, his skin twitching with the strangeness in the air. He didn't like this change in the good man; where once he'd felt comforting, now he was intimidating. He turned his snout to the black haired one and whined softly, as much an appeasement as a question. All he felt in return was the strange coolness that made him easy to distinguish but marked him as other. He would have gone to him anyway, when a harsh wave of hostility from the other washed over him, staggering him back with blinding pain. Shocked, he jerked his head back to his benefactor for aide; aide which did not seem to be forthcoming.

 

So be it. Perhaps he was expected to prove his worth somehow. He turned back to the one he knew instinctively was punishing him, was at fault somehow for the other's ire. This one didn't offer succor; he was trying to drive him off. To make him leave.

 

He couldn't allow it. Couldn't let him take away the fleeting feeling of belonging he'd found. Fuzzy as he was, lost as he was, he knew he couldn't go back, couldn't survive alone. The man and woman were his only hope.

 

Ears plastered back, he crouched down and prepared to fight. He didn't know exactly why, but for the first time in a long time he felt like he might have found something to fight for. He wanted to live.


	5. Chapter 5

Things were turning ugly, and the only thing useful Anita could think of was the meaning of the word "SNAFU". It was something she'd picked up early on in her interactions with the cops, and admittedly, military jargon was succinct and useful in any profession or circumstance. Situation normal, all fucked up. Which in this case meant the usual was happening; not what they wanted, not what they intended, but by God they once more had their hands full of a potentially bloody, decidedly one sided, preternatural duel. A classic David versus Goliath type face-off as it were. Except in this case, furry David was going to need to pull something a little stronger than a slingshot out of his metaphysical hat to defeat this Werewolf Goliath and avoid getting his ass kicked from here to Detroit. More like a silver loaded bazooka.

 

The newcomer scuffled the ground as he deepened his growl, and Anita could feel Richard's power flow over her in response; hot lava against her skin, even with her shields. It wasn't unexpected; she'd just hoped they would be able to dispense with the displays, but apparently neither of them wanted it that way. The wolf was a brave bastard, challenging like he was when he had to know he had a snowball's chance in Hades of beating Richard. Or maybe he didn't; he could be just that naïve about his and other wolves' abilities. Or stupid. Yeah, stupid looked about right. That's the one she was going to go with.

 

At a loss as to what to do, she was relieved when Jean-Claude moved closer to Richard and gave a final attempt to forestall the inevitable. All wolves were his to call, and he allowed that ability to flow out of him. To coax and soothe.

 

It was a wasted effort. "Don't even try," Richard coolly interrupted, almost as an afterthought, his attention so focused on his challenger. "I can keep you out if I want, and you're only delaying the unavoidable. He wants to run with the big dogs, he's going to have to learn a lesson in the rules." As much as he hated what he was, he was obviously in his element, his eyes tawny and bright with the prospect of a fight.

 

Jean-Claude gave a stiff, less than pleased bow of his head in acknowledgement. "As you wish, Mon Ami. But understand, we know little of whom we are dealing with. Perhaps he is due some munificence, at least until he is capable of being heard out."

 

Surprisingly, Richard turned his head squarely in Jean-Claude's direction, breaking visual contact with his opponent and completely at ease with it. No other action could so blatantly show his confidence. "I'm not going to kill him Jean-Claude; you should feel that from me at least. And I fully intend to hear him out later. But he has to back down and grovel now, and that I'm not about to let slide. Are you going to try to tell me that you didn't establish the pecking order when Lassie there came running to you for shelter?"

 

"Non, I can and will not," Jean-Claude conceded as he allowed his power to seep away. "Commencez comme vous avez l'intention de procéder. Begin as you intend to proceed."

 

"Exactly," Richard snarled, his face grim and feral as he raised his hand and shoved even more power at the mongrel trying to face him down.

 

**********************************************************************

 

"Well, that's not the best of introductions, is it?" Anita groaned as she allowed Jean-Claude to take her elbow and coax her away from the confrontation. Men. What the hell was the new guy's problem with just coming out, abasing himself agreeably to Richard in a friendly submissive belly showing, then shifting nicely back to human where he could sleep it off in the bowels of the Circus, wake up, and tell them his hopefully not so horrible story? SNAFU. Always some sort of a SNAFU. It never failed with anyone or anything that came into her life. Faced with the easy way or hard way, they invariably chose the road designed to be the biggest pain in the ass. Was it really asking so much that once, just once, someone would take the easy way?

 

Jean-Claude sighed resignedly. "No, Ma Petite, not as I would have wished it to transpire, but I have done what I could and must admit Richard is correct. The wolves are his to lead, and our supplicant needs to submit himself to the Wolf King as well. It would have gone better had he obeyed me and stayed hidden in the car until I called him, but so be it. He has made his choice, and it will be a hard lesson he learns."

 

The sound of an approaching vehicle caught her attention, and she reluctantly pried her eyes away from the combatants to see if it were friend or foe. Friend, and she relaxed minutely next to Jean-Claude. Micah had arrived, hopefully with good news.

 

He pulled in as close to them as he could and exited the car cautiously. She could understand his prudence. The tableau taking place in the lot gave every indication that he was wandering into a very bad situation with very little information. Micah had learned

caution and diplomacy under the tutelage of a very, very bad man, and it was a habit he would have with him to his dying day. His face neutral, he walked over and gave Anita a soft kiss on the neck in greeting, and nodded politely to Jean-Claude.

 

"So," he asked her softly, "what part of `it's under control' did I apparently misconstrue in my phone call?"

 

Anita shrugged, her eyes trained on Richard. "The part where I overestimated Richard's benevolence and underestimated the intruder's intellect. They've been posturing at each other since we arrived, and Jean-Claude won't intervene."

 

Micah graced her with one of his logical, reasonable, and utterly placid smiles as he gave her an infuriatingly reasonable answer. "Of course he won't."

 

Dumbfounded, she could only look at him is slack-jawed amazement. He agreed? Worse, his eyes were gleaming, and his teeth looked as if they had elongated slightly to kitty cat points. He not only agreed; it appeared as though he approved.

 

She really was never going to get the hang of this male bonding thing, and worse, she almost missed Jean-Claude's response in her shock. "Anita, I will not allow him to kill him, but I cannot offer him sanctuary if Richard does not approve. It is his right." 

 

She looked back and forth at the two men. "So you're both just going to let him drive him off?"

 

Jean-Claude gave an elegant shrug. "That is entirely up to our mysterious stranger. He need only yield. And if the position was reversed, Ma Petite, would you expect me to allow a vampire to come into my domain unannounced, and not to expect he or she submit themselves to me on bent knees offering profuse apologies for their lack of manners? Or worse, expect me to sit idly by while the wolves allow him safe passage under their protection?"

 

Micah interjected. "He's right, Anita. I may not handle it like this, but a leopard new in the city is our domain, and we wouldn't tolerate Raphael or Richard telling us how to deal with it. And if I was threatened in any way by an intruder, you'd reach for your Browning a heartbeat."

 

Damn it, when had the tables turned on her and the stray? She hated being put on the defensive unexpectedly like this. "It would never happen like that, and you know it. A vampire can't be masterless, so there wouldn't be a scenario like you said. And a master vampire would never present themselves to mere shifters for protection. Point of pride."

 

"You are being argumentative," Jean-Claude chided. "I do not want this to go badly either, but without understanding the Ulfric's indignation we cannot hope to assist our new found friend."

 

Ever sensible, Micah tried to press home the point logically. "He's right Anita. I can't interfere, because it's not my playground. It's Richard's. And you're wrong. If either of us were threatened like that, you'd kick the new guys butt from here to the city limits."

 

She bit back her angry retort. She was stubborn, but honest. They were right. As much as she damned Richard for instigating or propagating a fight, she did the same herself. She always looked for the clash when it came to Richard, and at least in this instance she should be giving him the benefit of the doubt. He hadn't shifted. Yet. He hadn't drawn blood. Yet. All he's done so far was stare down the auburn wolf into an impasse, and for him that was using amazing restraint. The power he'd unleashed was painful, but meant to punish, to push against the agitated wolf and keep him at bay. And it was working. The newcomer was pacing a short distance away, snarling and snapping, either trying to work up the courage to pounce or bluff his way through this.

 

A thought occurred to her. A possible way to diffuse the current state of affairs.

 

"But in a way he has submitted to the pack. He submitted to me."

 

Jean-Claude nodded. "You are Lupa still, true, but not the ruler. Perhaps if you told this to Richard…"

 

Anita breathed out. "He might count him as Thronnos Rokke and not an interloper. It won't save him a reaming, but it might go a long way towards helping him stay."

 

**********************************************************************

 

Still tense and disoriented, he scented the air and eyed his surroundings cautiously. Something wasn't right. He was out of his element and floundering. Worse, his allies were suspect. The female he had yielded to was approaching his rival from behind, and the

approach was being accepted. He would never permit an enemy at his back like that; simple combat tactics. It wasn't right, and the uncertainty had him pacing in a heightened state of agitation.

 

It made no sense, but advance could only mean she was a friend to his opponent. Had he been mistaken? About her? Or about this new man who confronted him? There was too much he didn't know. Didn't understand. His head hurt, his body hurt, and he was having trouble thinking clearly. He needed instructions, orders. A CO he could trust.

 

He backed off a few steps, and leaned down to rub his muzzle against his front leg. He was afraid, but he tamped that feeling down ruthlessly. You didn't show fear, no matter how adrift you felt. That way lay death. He hunkered down slightly, and tried to take stock of his predicament. One thing he knew; the further he'd gotten from the tall man, the more the pain had lessoned. He couldn't see what was causing it, could only feel it, like fire ants marching across his nerves. He crouched down and moved forward again cautiously, and was unsurprised when the agony returned.

 

He may have misjudged alliances, but he had not been wrong about being forced out, forced away. Something clicked in his brain, and pressed forward.

 

You had to fight for your place in this world. And if it was one thing he knew, it was how to fight.

 

**********************************************************************

 

Richard watched the wolf steel himself and prepare to attack, balancing unsteadily on his haunches as though to allow his front legs free for the skirmish. He was one stupid bastard, sick or not. He could sense his Lupa approaching his back, and allowed her presence. She was ally, not enemy, and could be trusted in such a precarious position to him.

 

He verbally let her know he was aware of her company. "I'll give him this; whoever he is, he's got courage and knows how to fight, at least on two legs. Unfortunately for him his four legged combat tactics appear a bit rusty." He gave her a slit eyed glance. "Micah and Jean-Claude both told you they were staying out of this, didn't they?"

 

She stopped as close to him as she dared, and breathed in deeply. He was deep in his wolf, and she could smell the scent of woods, of the lupanar, on him.

 

"How did you know?"

 

He gave her a cryptic look. "It's an Alpha thing."

 

She snorted and stopped herself just short of smacking him. Now would not be a good time. "Meaning only those with balls can understand it?"

 

He shook his head, refusing to be baited. "No, Sylvie would understand as well."

 

Anita snorted again, but wisely bit her tongue. He was right in a way. Sylvie would have ripped the new boy to shreds by now. "He submitted to me, you know," she offered quietly. "Or at least stumbled his way through the proper greeting to a dominant."

 

"Good. It means he's developed some instincts. It might just save his ass." He looked back to the growling, antagonistic topic of conversation. "If he displays anymore aggression Anita, you know I'll be forced to punish him harshly. For that, and his defiance. Pack or not, I can't tolerate disrespect and disobedience like that. And if he doesn't learn, he's going to either have to leave or die."

 

Anita nodded unhappily. Lycanthrope societies worked because the beast understood dominance. And even more so with wolves, they craved the organization and stability of the group. Ranking that would be considered medieval in a democratic society was accepted as norm in the pack. The stronger looked after the weaker; the weaker obeyed in return for protection. At least in theory. When you threw in human emotions, it had a tendency to get fucked up at times.

 

His patience at an end, Richard's power lashed out unexpectedly, and the wolf yelped in surprise and pain and looked reproachfully at Jean-Claude.

 

"Oh, don't bother you little prick. He's not going to help you now. And I won't say it again," he shouted, and the ginger wolf cringed slightly. "I'm going to give you one last chance. Come to me."

 

Anita held her breath, waiting to see what the were would do, when her cell phone went off at that inopportune time. She hurriedly flipped it open to silence the noise, and startled as she saw the name on the display.

 

"Jamil?" She listened quietly, then allowed a small grin to work its way onto her face.

 

"OK, I'll pass it on." She clicked her cell closed and carefully pocketed it. "Jamil says to tell you whatever the hell you're doing stop it. Jason's practically in a fetal submissive position, and wants you to know if he did something, didn't do something, or was supposed to do something and forgot, he's very sorry and please stop making his skin want to crawl off his body and hide." She let her smile drop as she relayed Jamil's other message. "He also said if you're trying to drive the new guy off, you're taking the right approach. But if you want him to stay, tone it down a notch and just club him into deference."

 

Richard winced. "I'll apologize to Jason later. But Jamil's right; it's time to end this."

 

He began striding purposefully towards the wolf, his bearing even in human form like that of an Alpha male. He gave no quarter in his gaze, and allowed the full strength of his power free rein to dance across the asphalt. It was an impressive display, and he wasn't even using it as a weapon or reprimand. He simply allowed it to be felt, allowed the wolf the chance to see how truly out matched he was and to surrender and beg forgiveness.

 

Pity it didn't work. Call it stubbornness, or machismo, or more than likely stupidity, but rather than bowing to an irresistible force the wolf's hackles rose and a very real howl rumbled from his chest. Richard sighed and rolled his eyes.

 

"You blew it, pal," Richard growled in return, his eyes wolf amber, his jaw lengthening as his canines grew. Anita barely had time to mutter, "Oh SHIT," before he reached out with both hands, clenched them into fists, and jerked them towards his chest.

 

He was alpha; Ulfric of Thronnos Rokke, and as such, he had a somewhat unique ability to control a person's beast. It also worked in reverse; he could control a shifter's humanity as well, force the animal back and make the wolf take human form again.

 

The transient wolf gave a long agonized howl that turned into a human scream as the fur and claws receded inward, until a goo covered, naked man lay where the red wolf had once been.

 

**********************************************************************

 

"Jesus, Richard," Anita gasped, her own skin goose bumped and prickly with the power he'd unleashed. "That was messy but effective. But I'm not bitching. I was expecting you to shift and tear him up, so as an alternative this worked nicely."

 

Richard shook his head as he squatted down next to the comatose intruder. "And I would have had to kill him if I did. All challenges are to the death, even unintentional ones, and I won't kill a man without first knowing the reason why."

 

Jean-Claude placed against Richard's broad back. "Laudable restraint, Mon Ami. Forgive me for my doubt. You handled it as a true Ulfric would."

 

"I don't always disappoint, Jean-Claude," he answered tiredly as he turned the limp form over onto his back, and gave the cause of all the evening excitement a good once over. "I may have been dumping on the guy, but I never intended to make him my night's whipping boy." Compact and muscled, he was fit in the way a man who lives an active lifestyle is fit. Not bulky like a bodybuilder, or whippet thin and wiry like a runner. A man who was used to physical labor.

 

Richard ran an appraising finger over the bar tattoo on the man's chest. "What the hell is this?"

 

Micah clapped a hand on Richard's shoulder to let him know he was there as he knelt down next to him. "Looks official, whatever it is. As in Government issue." His chartreuse eyes took on a serious glint. "That was commendable, Richard. Not a lot of Alphas would have restrained themselves from a more forceful and bloody punishment."

 

Richard eyed the smaller man suspiciously, but could find no hidden accusation or sarcasm. Just genuine respect.

 

He gave a deprecating shrug. "It wasn't called for. Yet, anyway." He hefted the man up into a fireman's carry and started for the back entrance. "Let's see if he's as fiery when he wakes up."

 

Micah laughed. "I'm sure between you, Anita and Jean-Claude you'll show him the error of his ways." He sobered slightly. "But if he's some sort of military or CIA he's a problem. Those marks…"

 

Jean-Claude interjected, "Are an object of deep curiosity and speculation. But I've no doubt he had cause to be running. The bigger question is from what? Or whom?"


	6. Chapter 6

Anita eyed the opulent guest room they had hurried into. "Jean-Claude, I know you extended your protection to this guy, and I basically accepted responsibility as being his dominant, but even with that he's hardly royalty. He's a stranger, potentially a prisoner, and covered in goo. I don't think he rates a four star suite and a duvet."

 

Jean-Claude laughed as he pulled the coverlet down far enough for Richard to gently lay the insensate man down. "Nonsense, ma petite. This," he waved his hand expansively, "is hardly out of the ordinary. All the rooms in the Circus are apportioned so."

 

She should have known. Jean-Claude did not stint on himself or the help when it came to everyday niceties. The Circus was home to a lot of the vampires, as well as many shifters of various flavors. The Rodere were contracted as bodyguards. The wolves were Jean-Claude's creatures, and by treaty with Richard many stayed there as well to serve in various capacities. The underground complex was huge and richly appointed with ample rooms for sleeping and living.

 

Richard straightened and brushed his hands off on his jeans, in his element and in control. "He needs to be cleaned up and kept warm until Lillian gets here. Are there towels in the bathroom, Jean-Claude?" He held up a warding hand at the affronted look the vampire shot his way. "Never mind, of course there are. To be without would simply be uncouth, wouldn't it?"

 

He turned for the bathroom. "Will you call Lillian, Anita? I need to clean him up," he called out over his shoulder as he hurried into the other room.

 

Jean-Claude's eyes took on a faraway look. "No need, Anita. My Temoin has already taken care of that. I'm sure she will be here shortly."

 

Richard's reply was slightly muffled as he searched the linen closet. "Good. Get Jason and Jamil in here as well. We're going to need them too. "

 

Anita absently followed the exchange. They were being civil to one another, and wonder of wonders, getting important things accomplished. And at the moment, she was more interested in the shivering riddle on the bed. An armed forces lycanthrope? Kind of

like military intelligence; an oxymoron of epic proportions. She started when Micah spoke quietly at her ear. Damned silent cat had a knack for sliding in under her defenses. Stupid love. "It's a new didn't get marks like that selling insurance or working in a bank.

But Micah was right; it was a new turn if it was true. It was a stress of prejudices to get men to serve alongside something that may or may not turn around and eat them as soon as the enemy. Most shifters had excellent control, and those that didn't had alphas that

made sure they had excellent control. But adrenaline could bring on the change, and nothing got the heart pumping like a combat situation. Not to mention the morale issue that would come from lycanthropes getting a once a month automatic leave to obey nature. Kind of hard to ferry them out of a combat zone regularly like that. And they used to moan about what women would have to do with their cycle.

 

"Interesting timing as well, would you not say?" Jean-Claude mused. "You were just mentioning that pesky law, ma petite, and the anti-sentiment towards lycanthropes. Now why would a government entity court the very thing they sought to ban?"

 

It was a good observation, and another mystery to add to the list. "Let's not rule out private sector here. people. I have no doubt there's tons of money to be had in lycanthrope research. Vaccinations, isolating the healing ability; the possibilities are out there. But regardless of what and why he is, he's going to need to be watched. I didn't sense anything but fear and need when he approached us, but until we talk to him I'm not taking chances. If this was all just a ruse to infiltrate us, we can't let him just wake up and wander around."

 

Richard reappeared with a mammoth, thick cotton towel that looked like a small blanket. "That's another reason I want Jamil here. He can handle him when he wakes, if need be, while Jason comes and gets us." He began to vigorously rub down the man, drying off the gunk and warming him in the process. As soon as he could, he pulled the blankets up over the shuddering form. Forced changes were always painful, but it wasn't like he'd had much choice. A lesson had to be taught. "But for the moment he's going to require heat, especially since he didn't feed after shifting."

 

An apologetic knock sounded on the door, and a timid voice called in, "Master? There is an officer from RPIT seeking Ms. Blake. The one called Zerbrowski. What shall I tell him?" It was one of the newer London vamps, and from the tremulous sound of his voice not a master and not one with a ton of cojones. She couldn't blame him though; the three of them separate were irascible enough at times, let alone together behind a closed door.

 

Jean-Claude turned to Anita. "It would complicate things were we to bring the authorities in prematurely, ma petite," he cautioned urgently.

 

You're telling me, Anita thought, privately mirroring his concern. That Zerbrowski was looking for her wasn't a major issue. That he sought her out person to person, at Circus of the Damned, was. Zerbrowski wasn't very fond of vampires, at least in the sense that they tended to make his job a bit more horrific. So for him to search her out here meant he felt it was a topic of major importance.

 

"I'll talk to him, Jean-Claude. Now let me out before your flunky out there has the world's first vampire heart attack."

 

**********************************************************************

 

Zerbrowski looked tired sitting on the edge of the divan in the waiting room outside of Jean-Claude's office. Tired, and unwilling to beat around the bush.

 

"Do you have him, Anita?"

 

Anita sat down next to him, and pushed him back into the embrace of the overstuffed cushions. The way to a man's heart may be through his stomach, but a wise person used whatever tools were at hand. "Why so concerned, Zerbrowski?" she countered with a curious question of her own. "It was only a single were, and he hadn't hurt anyone. Why are you looking so grim?"

 

Zerbrowski gave a wiggle and nestled deeper into the upholstery. "If you're trying to distract me with luxury, it's working wench." He closed his eyes and let out a contented breath. "It's been a crazy night, Anita. Lots of little puzzle pieces that I suspect but can't prove are connected. I get a call from a black and white about a Mercy Medical ambulance that got totaled after getting up close and personal with a deer. Odd thing is, Marines were driving it. One dead, one beat up bad and now AT said hospital. No one in the back, but it was reinforced like they were transporting a gorilla, and the gurney was all torn up to hell and back. Kind of like the passenger door."

 

"What did the injured Marine say?" Anita asked in a non-committal voice.

 

Zerbrowski moved his head slowly from side to side. "Nada. Nothing. Would probably give name, rank and serial number if pressed, but I didn't feel he was in any condition. Just asked that we contact his Commanding Officer directly and gave us the number."

 

"And why is this somehow connected to the missing were?"

 

That question got her a bit of a smirk. "I never said it was."

 

She nudged him with her foot. Not quite a kick, but just hard enough to show she wasn't biting. "You never said it wasn't, and you started out the conversation asking about him or her. So stop playing Columbo with me and get to the point."

 

Zerbrowski laughed and reluctantly sat up. "Fine, fine. I was never any good at that, and you just have no patience. The civilian ambulance that wasn't looked like it had been ripped up, and about the only thing I know of strong enough to do that would be either a lycanthrope or a vampire. And lo and behold, right on the heels of this we've got a runaway wolf gamboling his way through St. Louis like a hopped up St. Bernard."

 

She widened her eyes in mock shock. "Gamboling?"

 

"Another word for frolicking. The kids got me a word a day calendar for Christmas. I read. And don't change the subject. Do you have the werewolf, and did he by chance resemble any of this story? St. Bernard? Cask around the neck?"

 

She laughed at that. She couldn't help it. The man was a lecherous comic, and knew exactly how to get under her guard. Even if she wasn't falling for it.

 

"I'll let you know, Zerbrowski."

 

"Which means you have him, do or don't know it's related, but because you're chummy with the furries your lips are sealed."

 

That got her blood up a bit. She was tired, he was pushing, and she'd had enough of dancing a verbal minuet with him. "What do you want from me, Z?"

 

Sensing he'd gotten about as much out of her as he was going to get, he levered himself reluctantly. "Temper, temper! How about just telling me I don't have a problem at the moment and I'll be happy."

 

Anita backed down immediately. She empathized; he had a job to do, and it wasn't easy working with all the different preternatural factions in St. Louis. And she was supposed to be an ally. "You don't have a problem at the moment," she assured him, fervently hoping it was true.

 

He shrugged into his coat. "And the future?"

 

Anita pretended to shake an imaginary 8 ball. "The future is murky. Try again later."

 

He flipped her off inelegantly. "You're fucking hilarious, Blake. But I guess it'll have to do for the moment. You will let me know if I'm going to have camouflage dressed fireplugs with bad hair cuts crawling across my city, won't you?"

 

She held up her right hand palm out, three fingers together. "Scout's honor," she promised. Then went for broke. "And Zebrowski?"

 

"Yeah Blake?"

 

"Keep me posted if someone like that, or of a spookier variety shows up?"

 

Zerbrowski's cheeks puffed out as he forcefully blew out a breath. "I knew it. I just fucking knew it. You're gonna make me go prematurely gray, Anita."

 

"No chance of that, Zerbrowski. I'm sure the stress will make it fall out LONG before it has a chance to turn gray."

 

**********************************************************************

 

"So this is Shifter X, the guy that had Richard giving us all the heebie jeebies?" Jason questioned as he tried to peer around the combined muscle mass of Jamil, Claudia and Bobby Lee. Anita and the others had no such problems. They were up close, next to the hospital bed and Dr. Lillian. Alphas always had a front row view of things. Jean-Claude might have maneuvered him in unasked, but his master had excused himself to prepare for the dawn.

 

Of course, it didn't help that he was short, too. But God bless Lillian and her motherly concerns. She motioned him forward, and suddenly the sea of bodyguards parted magically in front of him. It was good to have friends in high standing. Time to meet the potential new member of the family.

 

"Yep, he is. And introductions are in order since you'll be contributing to his healing. Meet your new packmate, Jason. At least he should be, depending on how he answers the community's questions." Lillian peeled back the man's eye, and clucked to herself. Only whites showed; he was so deeply out of it that they had rolled completely into the back of his head. Not surprising considering the stress, drugs, and his forced shift back to human. She gently lowered his lid. Richard had been a bit heavy handed with him, but fair. If it had been Marcus she'd been stitching up what was left of the fool.

 

She turned to Richard to give her prognosis. "He'll be out of it for at least another six hours. They had him on a major dosage of Thorazine, and believe it or not, Cannibis extract. Marinol. It showed up in significant levels in the urine samples mainly, but he still had slight levels in his bloodstream as well. Amazing actually. His lycanthrope abilities should break down the drugs almost as fast as they could pump them in."

 

Jason gave her an incredulous look. "They got Shifter X stoned on pot?"

 

Lillian chuckled at his expression. The young ones were what made her life amusing. "Not exactly. I had read a journal on the synergy in combining Marinol with Thorazine. I just hadn't realized anyone had been using the finding on lycanthropes."

 

Blank expression greeted her explanation. Jason broke first. "Ok, I'll ask for your combined audience. Huh?"

 

Lillian shook her head. "Sorry. Got all clinical on you there. Synergy in drugs is when, if you combine them, the effects are greater than when used separately. Someone seems to have used it to their advantage in controlling weres. My guess would be that this is

a direct result of the shifter confinement centers. All they are interested in is control and reducing the `threat' to the public."

 

Micah's eyes turned hard, unforgiving. "I knew we've been lax with battling those locations. We let the ACLU fight our battles for us there, Anita. The Coalition is going to have to throw resources that way."

 

"One problem at a time, Micah." She pulled him in close for a quick embrace. "One problem at a time."

 

Curious, she turned back to the wererat doctor. "So do you think he's military, Lillian?" Zerbrowski's little tidbits of information had pretty much solidified that conclusion in her mind, but she was intrigued to hear the older woman's reasoning.

 

"Definitely. Even above and beyond the overall aura and look, I just don't think a civilian facility would do a bar code tattoo. And look," she continued, peeling back the man's upper lip to reveal yet another tattoo, this one is numeric. "Serial number, blood type, and 019 � WW, which I'm assuming means werewolf, and the nineteen could be his numeric designation."

 

Richard stood a little straighter at that. He hadn't thought to check for a lip tat. It made sense though; the lip was one of the few areas that was easily read in either form. If the wolf was willing or out of it, that is. "Meaning there's eighteen others out there somewhere?"

 

"I think it's a leap to assume that they are all alive. If they've been converting and doing experimentation, they might have encountered a high mortality factor."

 

Anita gave her a perplexed look. "What makes you think he was converted after? They could have recruited him."

 

Lillian pointed to the black bars on the man's chest and arm. "Besides the general lycanthrope ban on military involvement, he still has the tattoos. If they'd been added on after the fact his body would have rejected them. Which puts us in a bit of a pickle."

 

Anita's eyes widened in surprise. That was a new one on her. That the military had a ban on lycanthropes was a long standing, codified fact. No don't ask, don't tell policy when the cat or wolf was out of the bag every full moon. But she didn't know that the were community had their own interdiction as well.

 

"What ban?"

 

Claudia and Bobby Lee exchanged glances, waiting for Micah or Richard to answer as alphas. When they remained silent, Claudia shrugged and replied, "Occasionally shifters get feelers from military and other government agencies, to participate in `studies' as they call them. No one can serve two masters and stay completely true to either allegiance. And every lycanthrope society has secret ways you are sworn to uphold. So it's not permitted to belong to any military and be a shifter. Former armed forces who are turned are welcome, but they only serve their alphas. Besides, up until now anyway, military didn't trust weres. The ban was pretty much a two way street."

 

Bobby Lee nodded next to her. "Mostly it's the spooks that come after you, but in general they go for the psychic shit more anymore. It's not only loyalty, it's a control issue. And very few lycanthropes will acknowledge a mere human as dominant. We can work for them, and take orders, but we don't see them as alphas generally."

 

Trust those two to give her a straightforward answer. "OK, that makes sense." She turned back to Lillian. "So why are we in a pickle?"

 

"This is a major shift in attitude in the armed forces. It's an alluring idea having lycanthropes as soldiers, with our stamina and strength, but even discounting the prejudices and fears of infection, the logistics are staggering. What do you do in a combat zone with the forced shifts once a month? The silver factor? But if they feel they've discovered a niche that negates those items, we need to figure it out. Then there's him, personally. If he's AWOL he's a security threat. He might be dangerous, even uncontrollable, and that's why they had him drugged. You never can tell power and how people are going to react psychologically to the alteration. He could be as much a psychopath as Anders."

 

Anita played Devil's advocate. "Or he could be unwilling and trying to get away." Or a cleverly placed plant.

 

Lillian shrugged. "I would personally like to know why he volunteered, and why he was apparently running. But the fact is, and I'm not trying to be cold, but it doesn't matter as far as we're concerned. What does matter is one simple fact." She looked them all in the eye.

 

"Whoever the mysterious they are, they're going to want him back."

 

Richard looked down at the slumbering man. "Jamil. Jason. Stay with him and help him heal. Your presence will also help indoctrinate him into Thronnos Rokke." He could see Jason's mutinous look, and hear the rumble of protest that was growing inside him. One hard quelling look had the young man head bowed and sullen.

 

"Fine, but as soon as Jean-Claude wakes and calls for me I'm out of here. And Jamil can spoon from his front. If Shifter X gets up frisky or pissed off, he can handle him better than me!"


	7. Chapter 7

He was having a good dream.

 

They'd been scant in recent months, nightmares being the usual course of his tortured nights. He didn't know why now was different, beyond a hazy sensation that he'd reached sanctuary somehow, or maybe it was just his beaten down soul creating it's own surcease. But for whatever reason, real or imagined, he felt safe, and his nighttime fantasies were reflecting this sense of security. And damned if he wanted to lose the feeling, so he immersed himself deeper into it, burrowed deeper into its warmth, willing for once to stay tight in its REM induced embrace.

 

This dream was wonderful, one of those rare full Technicolor ones with vibrant forest imagery and intoxicating odors of earth and animal. And it just felt so damned right, these images his subconscious was conjuring for his night time pleasure. Running flat out, his tongue lolling, toned muscles rippling as his paws propelled him through the forest. The trees caressing him with their bark and limbs as he skimmed by, his mind racing as it fought to process the scents and sounds surrounding him so that he could remain focused on his prey. The musky aroma of panic from the deer as he lunged in for

the kill, the beast's hot blood spraying his muzzle as he tore into its jugular. Gorging on chunks of bloody meat until he was replete and exhausted. Collapsing into a furred pile, nose to tail with his packmates.

 

Packmates?

 

That got his conscious attention. It was a laborious process, mainly because his body fought him every slumbering opportunity, but slowly Jake's awareness took hold and exerted control. As wonderful as the dream was, it just wasn't computing properly with his human side, and that side was desperately shaking him, trying to get him to wake up and stop taking pleasure in the Jack London Call of the Wild like he was.

 

Reluctantly, his body slowly complied, and reality began to hold sway in his brain. Almost immediately two facts registered in his mind. One was that he was warm. Gloriously, marvelously warm, and his body won that argument as he nestled deeper into that heat, reveling in the sensation and the spicy aroma permeating from its source.

 

The second eye-opener was a bit more problematic. It was the fact that the heat he was so enjoying was coming from the bedmates he was pillowed against, male bedmates, and whoever was behind him was way too happy for his liking.

 

Mind won that contest, because that was something that would wake you up quicker than ice water on the family jewels. Instantly alert, his eyes focused on the dread-locked man in front of him, and he shoved hard against his back, effectively heaving him off the bed. Almost immediately he head butted and elbowed backwards into the guy with the hard-on that had been snuggled up against him. A satisfying howl of pain and loud thud told him bedmate number two was no longer in close proximity either. Leaping to his feet, he straddled the bed grinned wildly, both sides of him enjoying the triumph, his inner wolf bristling at the affront. Battle was one of the few times his dual halves agreed.

 

"Keep that thing the fuck out of my back!" he snarled down at the shocked man.

 

The pressing issue taken care of, training clicked in and he quickly sized up his former bed buddies and assessed their threat level, deciding the black man was more dangerous than the smaller guy with the boner. He also took stock of his surroundings, noting exits and possible weapons and the fact that it was probably the nicest room he'd ever slept in. Pity it had to be in potentially hostile territory. He still had no idea where he was, but it couldn't be the center. That institutional bit of hell was too antiseptic to ever have a Four Seasons' room like this. But priorities; where could wait. He needed to take care of things with the Bobsey Twins first.

 

Boy, were they in for a surprise, whoever the hell they were. They did not know who they were dealing with. He turned his attention to naked blonde haired man he elbowed to the floor. The man, no boy, was holding his bloody nose and glaring up at him, obviously less than happy with the sudden turn of events.

 

He gave a big evil grin. Too god damn bad.

 

***********************************************************************

 

Like I didn't see THIS coming, Jason fumed to himself as he tilted his head back and squeezed his nose. The fucker had clocked him a good one right on the bridge, and it was just pure dumb luck it wasn't broken. He'd have two lovely shiners out of the deal though, and he only hoped his shifter healing fixed them up before his sets tonight or he was going to be troweling on the base.

 

The man looked so wild eyed and disoriented that he had to smile. New shifters generally weren't all that agreeable to the touchy feely aspect of their new lives, but you worked with them, coaxing slowly, and they eventually learned to stop fighting their human morays and enjoy the camaraderie. This poor SOB just had a crash course, and he supposed he was due some slack. Some.

 

He grinned up from where Shifter X had shoved him to the floor. Like he'd WANTED to waste a good hard-on on an irritable dude like him. "Don't flatter yourself, mystery man. Mr. Happy here has more to do with my pressing need to whiz than any imagined attraction to your ugly body." He made a cautious move to stand up, not wanting to provoke the guy further by moving any closer, but really needing to get the hell off the floor and pull the tattered remains of his dignity back around him. And considering there wasn't a robe in sight, that was the best coverage he was going to get.

 

The guy bristled, and rather than let it escalate to a physical confrontation he'd probably lose Jason relaxed back to the floor. A fight might be a lost cause, but he hadn't deserved the bloody nose, and he by no means was going to let that go without comment.

 

He'd wanted to do sarcasm, but decided on a lighter approach. "And by the way, you're welcome. Jamil and I were more than happy to keep you comforted and help your healing." He rolled his eyes. "What are packmates for?"

 

He'd expected his banter to at least elicit a bit of relaxation on Shifter X's part, maybe even a civil comment back. What he did not expect was the subtle shift in posture, a clenching of hands and a stiffening of his shoulders that just screamed fight. He could see Jamil reaching the same conclusion and sidling closer at the same time the new guy did.

 

A quick jerk of his head, and Shifter X tucked his chin into his shoulder, allowing him to maintain visual contact with the two of them. An animalistic grin graced his face as his upper lip curled into a snarl.

 

Well, FUCK.

 

**********************************************************************

 

Jake could sense the black man at his back, closing to engage. His current position was untenable; he was in unknown territory with two opponents and that made him decidedly uneasy. Odd thing was, and he couldn't say, but there was something about them that was familiar. Like a feeling of déjà vu, that he knew or should know them. He curled his lip in a frustrated snarl. He hated being this blind; there was more here than met the eye and he by God was going to find out what it was. He needed leverage, he needed answers, and the smart mouthed kid with the blue eyes was going to provide him with both whether he liked it or not. With a speed that still astounded him, he launched himself off the bed to neutralize the boy and gain himself a hostage.

 

The guy must have guessed his intent, and he caught the alarmed look just before the kid began crab walking backwards and yelped "Jamil!"

 

Too late, he gloated, already in mid air and planning a nice, neat choke hold around his victim's neck. At least, that had been the plan, until a blurred black freight train tackled him in the small of his back and slammed him hard into the carpeting, the speed of the attack shocking the hell out of him as it knocked the wind from his lungs. He'd never seen him coming, and now he was pinned and defenseless. Worse, golden yellow eyes were glaring down at him. Eyes he recognized.

 

Animal eyes.

 

Ok, maybe he didn't know what he was dealing here with either.

 

There was nothing to be gained from his current position, so he just relaxed and slapped the floor with his hand, letting his opponent know he'd surrendered. The man sat up, but continued to straddle him, and by his demeanor and body language he knew that if he tried anything it was going to cost him some major pain. He sighed mentally over being subdued so easily, and chided himself for overestimating his advantage and underestimating his captors.

 

A second, slightly irreverent and totally inappropriate thought also crossed his mind. The black man, Jamil the other one had called him, was also naked as a jaybird, and he had just effectively traded one dick for another.

 

It was Jamil that broke the silence. "You are one ignorant, inbred, selfish son of a bitch. You don't molest clan that's trying to help you," he said with heartfelt disgust. "Richard should have just ripped you up and sent you packing."

 

That pissed him off. They were doing him a favor? What load of bullshit was that? He bucked angrily, arching his back and nearly dislodging Jamil. All it got him was backhanded and a bloody mouth. 

 

He snarled back angrily, "Pal, I don't know who the fuck you are or where the fuck I am, but I sure as shit know I didn't come here willingly and wouldn't crawl into bed with the likes of you two!"

 

Resistance, and lip, was as they say apparently futile. A steely hand whipped out and gripped his jaw, effectively silencing him. "Don't be so sure of that, jarhead. I'd rip you up myself but I don't have permission. So let's try to do this the civil way, shall we? Why don't you settle down and take stock of things here."

 

He was getting mortal tired of being told this was all entirely his fault. He didn't choose this, any of it.

 

Movement to the side got his attention, and he slid his eyes enough to see the boy, no, young man straighten up from his position on the floor.

 

"You want me to go get Jean-Claude and the others now Jamil?"

 

The aforementioned Jamil never lessened his grip as he gave an emphatic shake of his head. "Not yet. In a minute. I've been itching to give this one a crammed lesson as Skoll."

 

Jason laughed at that one, and he had no idea what was so damned amusing. "You can try. For all that he was a bastard shifted, he doesn't seem as intuitive in his human form, so I think your fighting a losing battle."

 

"My call Jason," his captor snapped as he removed his hand. He carefully watched him sit up, then in a liquid motion rock back on his heels and spring up and away, landing next to the very mutinous looking Jason.

 

He stayed still, waiting to see what Jamil's next move was going to be. Apparently it was school time. "OK, I don't have a lot of time before Jean-Claude senses you're up, and I want to get first shot. Lesson number one. Time to start using what you've got. Simple question for you, one even a stubborn bastard like yourself can answer. What are you?"

 

Angry and more confused than ever, Jake levered himself up on his elbows but made no effort to get up. What the hell was he talking about? His Marine rank? His lycanthropy? He hesitated, and Jamil rumbled an angry growl. Ok, so patience wasn't in abundance with anyone here.

 

He chose his lycanthropy as an answer. "I'm a werewolf," he gritted out, trying to tamp down the worst of his temper.

 

It was apparently the right one, since Jamil smiled and continued the inquisition. "Good. And don't act so sullen. First step of any twelve step program is admitting what you are. Now what am I?"

 

Jake opened his mouth to say something entirely inappropriate and undeniably stupid, then paused. He knew the man had to be a lycanthrope as well, but he'd been feeling something off the two of them, something that resonated with him…sudden comprehension burst brightly in his brain, and he sat completely up in astonishment.

 

"You're a wolf, too! And the boy well!" That was what had been niggling at him all this time; they felt exactly like the other men at the center! Not that he'd had much contact, human or wolf. Chance or staged encounters tended to end badly, and he let his caution increase.

 

He apparently insulted the boy. Jason growled at him, and he could see the blue of his eyes fading to a wolf green. "What the hell is with the boy comment? Do I LOOK like a child to you?" he yipped at him.

 

That got him fully upright. He had to take shit from Jamil at the moment, but it had been years since he tolerated lip from callow privates like him. "What you look like is a wet behind the ears kid who isn't old enough to drink, even if you've got that ridden hard look to your eyes. What you look like is a boy I could handle staggering drunk, with a broken arm." He'd had enough of this night, of being in the dark, and his anger bubbled up out of him and burst out at the blond haired man in geyser of pent up heat. Literally. He could feel his temperature elevate as the power erupted in a scalding blast. This was going to end in a fight, like it always ended in a fight.

 

Shocked, he watched Jason pale and drop to his knees, shoving his face down into the carpet like a supplicant. Ok, that was new. Confused, he growled at the both of them, "What the hell is that? Look, I'm already far out of my happy place waking up naked between the two of you, and now you're pulling some kind of fetish game on me? Fighting I can handle, but this shit? Knock off the groveling and get up for the love of Christ." Fists still clenched, he increased the distance between them, more for himself than to ease up on the kid. He had to get out of there, had to find space to think. Mentally he counted the steps to the door and starting calculating his chances.

 

Jamil shook his head in disgust. "He's just acknowledging you as dominant to him, and asking you not to hurt him. Like you should have done with Richard last night. Something everyone new shifter is taught, first thing." He tapped Jason on the shoulder and motioned him up. "Forget it, Jason. No need to show him deference since I doubt he's staying, and I won't let him hurt you. Go get Richard and Jean-Claude now. He'll answer their questions and then they can decide what to do with him."

 

That had a foreboding quality he didn't appreciate, and he edged closer to the exit. It was time to attempt an escape. "I'm not telling you people a damned thing until I get some answers first. Like who the fuck you are, where the fuck I am, and how the fuck did I get here?" With the last, he lunged for the door and twisted it open.

 

Only to have it blocked by six foot plus of brown haired body builder, a slimmer effeminate man, and a woman who felt like she was the scariest of the three of them. Wild guess, but it looked like the Richard and Jean-Claude Jamil had been referring to decided to crash the party on their own.

 

The body builder slowly surveyed the room and it's occupants before he spoke. "Well, I guess I have my question answered. You've got the same attitude in human form."

 

Jake instinctively crouched down into a close combat stance. He'd been a black belt in MCMAP, the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program, and had never been bested, but he quailed at the prospect of taking this guy on and he had no idea why. The man was tall, sure, and built like a brickhouse, but he'd handled beefier Marines without hesitation. But something about him, and the two other people with him was just plain intimidating.

 

The raven haired man clucked in disapproval. "One that is entirely too uncouth for my liking and completely delusional in nature."

 

That voice shook him to his core, like he should know who he was, who they all were. He backed up several steps to give himself a semblance of a breathing space and shook his head to clear it, to try to shake the memory loose. It hurt; it hurt bad, and he reached up to press his fingers against his temples to lesson the pain.

 

It didn't work, and despair began to creep in. Everyone here expected something of him, something he should know or be doing, and he had nothing but anger and now fear to fall back on.

 

A silky voiced insisted, "Mon Ami, if you would do me the courtesy of looking at me when I am addressing you?"

 

Jake opened his eyes and glared boldly at the raven haired man. He stiffened his resolve. He might be going down, but he wasn't going down easy, and if this guy thought he was going to intimidate him into revealing anything with his haughty language and thinly disguised threats he was the one who was delusional.

 

The man, Jean-Claude he assumed, had deep, deep blue eyes and for a moment Jake thought he was hallucinating as he watched the blue creep outward from the irises to swallow the orbs whole. He found himself swaying slightly, and it felt as though his mind had detached itself from his body and was tumbling into those blue depths.

 

The timbre of Jean-Claude's voice went from silky to commanding. "Now then, introductions are in order. Your name, please?"

 

He wanted to keep silent, felt he should be cautious, but incredibly, the words slipped easily out of his mouth. Worse, he didn't feel the least bit angry over answering.

 

"Reed. Jake Reed."

 

"Bon. I am Jean-Claude, Master of the City of St. Louis. The man you nearly collided with is Richard Zeeman, Ulfric of Thronnos Rokke and your pack leader. Ma petite is Anita Blake, your Lupa." He bowed elegantly, and Jake watched him, enthralled by his voice and utterly limp with relaxation. "But enough of pleasantries. Why did you come to me?"

 

Jake scrunched his face up in an effort to think. "I didn't…I don't remember…"

 

"But you did, Monsieur Reed. But you did. Last night, as a wolf, you sought ma petite and I and abased yourself willingly to us. And allowed us to bring you here. Think hard. You will remember."

 

Something squeezed insistently at his thoughts. He screwed his forehead into deeper furrows as he concentrated and tried to recall. The facility, his past, that was all there. But the last twenty-four hours were staying hidden just behind a foggy curtain.

 

He never noticed that the man had moved behind him until a cool breath tickled across his neck and a soft voice crooned, "Concentrate. It is right there, you simply need to relax and command them to come to you. To gently blow," a puff of air tickled his cheek in demonstration, "away the haze. Close your eyes and try."

 

The crash. Only bits and pieces before that, of burning, and relief, and kind hands and a comforting voice. But the crash, or at least the aftermath he could now remember. Struggling free. Helping the Corporal who had helped him.

 

Shifting. Running. Sensing someone or something….

 

His eyes flew open. "YOU! It was you I felt, and tried to find!" His voice dropped to a wondered whisper. "What are you?"

 

"Vampire," Jean-Claude answered succinctly. "And you are my animal. It is why you sought me out. Now, the question is, why?"

 

He remembered it all then, and his rational mind tried to analyze his current state of affairs in terms he could understand, nice black and white descriptions. He was woefully outranked here. The woman was more powerful than he was, like the vampire. The larger man as well. He'd been the one to hurt him, and he eyed him now with a deep, grudging respect tinged with no small amount of fear. He was the one they called Richard, Ulfric. He was his new commanding officer, and he'd attacked him. Tried to fight him.

 

He was surrounded by a vampire and shifters, and it felt normal. Right. It didn't make sense, at least to his human side, and he'd had very little instruction in his wolf half beyond control and endurance tests. The wolf had brought him to this place, this man. He sure as hell hadn't been batting a thousand on his own; maybe it was time to stop repressing his were side and give it a shot.

 

The vampire continued insistently, "I can be patient, mon ami, but it is not endless. Why did you come to me?"

 

A dozen different answers tumbled through his brain. Suddenly it clicked what he had to do, what he needed to do, what the two other shifters were trying to get across to him. Gut instinct took hold, and just like the boy had done, he gracefully dropped to his knees and bowed his head onto his hands, and gave the only honest answer he could.

 

"I needed help, and had no where else to go."


	8. Chapter 8

`Weird, Jake thought to himself. Simplistic, considering the big picture, but it was the only word that worked in his mind. He was sure his Marine buddies would have used an entirely different description. Something more along the lines of `fucked up' or `fucking insane'.

 

Yet here he was. The silence that had enveloped the room the moment he hit his knees was unnerving, but not something he would have qualified as overtly threatening. At least it didn't feel that way, and he was flying more on feelings than logic for the time being. And to be fair, his current Zen-like mindset was actually more unsettling then being prostrate in a room full of shifters and vampire and who the hell knew what. Like he said, weird. In that Kafkaesque surreal sense of the word. Not that anything in this fucked up nightmare he'd been forced into should have surprised him, but this willful capitulation he had just submitted his body and, he admitted reluctantly, soul to should have had him seething in rage and should only have been accomplished through the use of a gun barrel to the back of his head.

 

Hell, it was even freakier than waking up to two naked guys. But in for a penny, in for a pound, and he'd look even sillier if he suddenly jumped up and shouted "Just kidding!" So he stayed prone, his face pressed against his hands, and just…waited. And hoped to

God someone would break the quiet in the room soon, because after the initial rightness of the gesture he was clueless on how to proceed and starting to feel a bit foolish. Nothing in his background helped here, but something inside him had overruled his common sense and insisted that this was the only sane way to avoid a major ass kicking. And years of hard lessons learned a long time ago from far too many engagements compelled him to trust his instincts.

 

So there was nothing left to do but just go with the flow.

 

At least from the way the other non-vampires were relaxing and reacting, his inner grasshopper had chosen wisely. He could practically feel his skin smooth out as the prickly aura of the room faded to a more comfortable hum.

 

And his prayers were answered. The lengthy pregnant pause was broken by an awed voice. "Damn," he heard Jason exclaim. "He isn't as dumb as he acts. I'd give you the twenty I owe you, Richard, but I seem to be without pants pockets at the moment."

 

Jake smiled slightly into the back of his hands. Figured it'd be him. That boy had to have gotten beat up a lot as a child. He was plain incorrigible and destined to have his mouth get him into a predicament that he wouldn't be able to talk himself out of, or have friends rescue him from. He peeked up slightly to get a visual. Things were looking up. The big guy and vampire looked amused. Hell, they were even smiling.

 

"Jason," Richard chided, his tone happier now that his ego had been mollified by the show of submission. "Shut up and let the man talk."

 

Jean-Claude's elegant voice concurred. "Bon, Richard. I too am anxious to know what it is Monsieur Reed flees that he sought my protection as a last resort. If you please, Mr. Reed?"

 

Jake's smile faded. He knew it was coming, but still; the prospect of revealing it all just physically hurt, like a knife twisting in his guts. "I hardly know where to start this. It's," Jake winced as the enormity of what he was going to tell them sunk in. This was his life, damn it, and not all of it was pretty. But it wasn't like he had a choice.

 

Suddenly exhausted, he carefully spoke to the carpet. "It's complicated, and I honestly don't know what you do or don't need to hear."

 

"Then simply start where all good tales start, Mon Ami. At the beginning. We will direct the story as we need with questions."

 

"Is it OK for me to get up?" Jake asked cautiously, and he dared a glance upwards, his eyes darting between the three of them. He wasn't sure who exactly was in charge, and he didn't want to make any more wrong assumptions this night. If they wanted him to tell his tale of woe with his face to the carpet and his ass in the air, then so be it.

 

It was Richard who offered a hand to help him to his feet. "Sure, Jake," he answered informally as he effortlessly levered the man up. Jake caught the strength and the familiarity, and cataloged them both like a good soldier as he was intended. The kid gloves and carrot was out for now, but there was steel there that he was powerless against. He'd figured that out, but he'd apparently been enough of a pain in the ass that the big guy had decided he needed another reminder.

 

"Thanks," he said ruefully. "Not that the carpeting isn't nice, but this whole ordeal has been bizarre enough without adding in the Far East supplicant pose." He glanced down at his nakedness. He didn't expect them to agree to another request, but he had to try. "Look, I know I've already asked a lot, but do you think I could get a pair of boxers or something? My two bedmates over there may be comfortable enough as is, and hell, this may be the norm for you guys, but right now I'm feeling more than a little drafty and I don't habitually do this in front of a lady." Jake waited for the denial. As an interrogation technique keeping the prisoner naked and vulnerable ranked up there, but he could only hope.

 

Jean-Claude came to his rescue once again. "But of course, Monsieur Reed. Jason, please," he ordered smoothly, and surprisingly the young man hurried to his side, like a dog whistled to heel. "Please fetch proper clothing for Jamil and our guest, and clothe yourself as well. And have Claudia and Bobby Lee come in immediately," he requested blandly, almost as an afterthought. "They may wish to report back to Raphael."

 

"Sure, sure. Get Jason to fetch the guy who just BROKE HIS NOSE some clothing. Lord knows we wouldn't want HIM to feel uncomfortable," the boy grumbled in mock outrage. Even knowing him the short period he had, Jake could tell he was teasing. He was dead on right with his assessment of the kid; he'd seen his type in the forces. Cocksure and fun loving, they'd joke their way into and back out of hell before the devil even knew he'd been fleeced.

 

As apparently everyone else in the room knew as well, judging from the rolled eyes and mock cuff the one called Jean-Claude gave him. A blow that barely grazed the boy's blond hair and looked suspiciously more like a head ruffle than discipline.

 

"Go! You try my patience, my pomme."

 

Jason mocked bowed and sprinted for the door. "Going!"

 

He was right about one thing, Jake thought. He hadn't deserved the smack down. He called out before Jason could leave. "Hey, kid!"

 

And got a saucy grin and an eye roll for his trouble. "What? You got a color preference you want me to know about or something?"

 

Yep. Incorrigible. "No, smartass. I wanted to apologize. You took me by surprise, and I'm beginning to understand that you were only trying to help and sure as shit didn't deserve a head butt to the snout. I'm sorry."

 

At least he got an honest smile for his trouble. "No problem," Jason shrugged. "It's not as though that isn't the normal course of events around here. Invaded by hostile forces? Jason gets smacked around. Angry Ulfric? Jason gets smacked around. Runaway marine with a mysterious story? Jason gets smacked around." LMAO!!!!!

 

"JASON!" three exasperated voices yelled at once.

 

"I'm gone!"

 

**********************************************************************

 

Feeling less guilty, Jake sat down on the edge of the bed and crossed his arms in his lap hoping for a modicum of decency. Demanding eyes turned to him as soon as the door closed. Even though Jake had known this moment was immanent, he was loath to begin now that the moment of truth had arrived. Hesitating, he scanned the room, and finally took notice of the fact that the black guy, Jamil, had moved into a defensive position next to Richard as soon as Jason had left.

 

Bodyguard, his mind cataloged, and Jamil fit the bill to a tee. Lean and hard with an aura of assurance and purpose. Grudgingly, he admitted that the man would have made a good marine officer. After he cut his hair.

 

Noticing Jake's less than secret appraisal, Jamil ghosted a snarled smile. "It's nice that you apologized to Jason, but understand that I wouldn't have allowed you to hurt him. He'd played by the rules; acknowledged you and asked me for protection. Lesson number two, jarhead. When a submissive wolf asks you to protect them from a bigger badder shifter, and you touch them and agree, you do it. I'd have sooner chewed off my arm than let you attack him."

 

"Understood," Jake accepted coolly. He didn't really, but cataloged it away for a future discussion. If there was a future. But one thing was certain; he was learning. There was a pecking order here, and he was fast qualifying people as higher, lower or equal. Jamil thought he was higher. Jake pegged him at equal. To be continued.

 

A voice brought him back to the present. "Do you not owe us a story, mon ami? At the beginning, cie vous plait?"

 

Jake nodded. "Do you want me to wait for the others?"

 

The woman, Anita, broke in at that. "Look, I've been quiet, allowing Richard and Jean-Claude to deal with this as Ulfric and Master of the City. But you're stalling, and the reluctance to talk is starting to make me twitchy. So just start, and how about letting us fill in the others as they get here."

 

Jake met her eyes for a moment. Dark brown and intense, he was unable to hold her gaze for long before looking away and nodding. "I'm a Master Sergeant in the Marine Corp. Was a Master Sergeant. Might still be, but I'm not sure. It's…complicated."

 

Anita's voice softened at the obvious pain in his voice. "Most things aren't simple. They take your rank away when you volunteered to be a shifter?"

 

That cut him, and Jake's eyes flashed, the dual emotions of anger and shame lending them a bright sheen. Anita sucked in air and held it, half afraid of what he was about to say but pretty much knowing what was coming.

 

He couldn't suppress the rage and hurt from his voice. "What the fuck makes you think this was voluntary?"

 

Anita gasped softly. "Are you saying you were infected against your will?" Anita slid shocked eyes to Jean-Claude. His were hooded, his face a blank mask that would have won him millions at Texas Hold'em. But she could feel what he was thinking; they wished to outlaw his and Richard's kind, yet they do this to their own men? They could

use this to their advantage.

 

Richard was another story. All she sensed from him was disbelief.

 

Anita's eyes softened at the unhappy, tense man seating before them. Whatever his story was, it wasn't a cheerful one, and she sympathized with his reluctance to bare his life before them.

 

"Like Jean-Claude said, let's just start at the beginning, Master Sergeant Jake Reed. Tell us everything."

 

Jake nodded and found something intriguing to stare at in his lap. "Like I said, I was in…"

 

He stopped when the door opened quietly, and Jason returned with a tall, silver haired man he'd never seen before.

 

"I'm sorry," Jason said quietly, sensing the irritated atmosphere at yet another interruption. "Claudia's hunting down Raphael. And you said to bring clothes."

 

"It's fine, Jason. Give the man and Jamil their clothes," Richard commanded. Introductions are in order. "Bobby Lee, meet Jake Reed. Jake, Bobby Lee. He's a Wererat employed here at the Circus."

 

Wererat? Circus? Jake opened his mouth to ask the thousand questions that were brewing in his mind, then just closed it and concentrated on slipping into the warm-up pants the boy had brought him. It was going to have to be another time for his burning curiosity. They wanted to hear about him. And time had run out about fifteen minutes ago.

 

When Jamil and the newcomers had settled, he took a deep breath and began. "I'm a Marine. Third Reconnaissance Battalion, sniper specialty. A lot of good years in, some bad, some awful. Recent deployment has been Afghanistan. Being stationed there qualifies as awful." He looked around, hoping they understood but not expecting them to. It was inconceivable to most people how wretched conditions could be outside the U.S., or how resented military presence was. "God knows I'd done my tours there. Saw and did things I'll take a lifetime forgetting, and the last tour was bad." His voice was clipped, clinical. Like he was reciting a multiplication table. "I'd had enough and was due a stateside rotation. I'd put in my years, I had seniority, and was close to getting out. So I talked to my Colonel, and he said he'd make it happen. He gave his word he'd make it happen. His word."

 

Jake tensed as Bobby Lee stiffened and jabbed a finger his way. "That's bullshit boy, and you know it. Caught you in a lie. I may not be Corp anymore, but I keep in touch and I read the news. 3rd Recon don't slog through Afghanistan. They're based off Okinawa, and may have gone in Iraq, but Afghanistan isn't their playground."

 

"You so sure of that?" Reed shot back angrily, affronted. "You so goddamn sure you know the exact whereabouts of all 300 of us in the Forward Shadow? Hell, of all the Marine Divisions? "

 

Bobby Lee took a menacing step towards Jake. "I know Recon works with the Third Marine Expeditionary Force, and I know they ain't in `stan."

 

Jake sighed. He didn't want a fight. Now that he'd starting telling someone the whole story, the truth, all he wanted was for them to listen and understand. "No, the bulk isn't. We we're a sniper unit assigned to the 3rd Marine Division during Enduring Freedom. Elements of us, namely my unit, stayed the course with them. I did." Jake paused, closing his eyes and massaging the corners like he was trying to erase the memories. "I did more tours than I should have. More tours that I was supposed to, but snipers were in demand. Still are."

 

Bobby Lee grunted, mollified by Reed's sincerity and explanation. A little embarrassed, he backed off slightly. "Yeah, that's right. They were involved in that. So you were a Recon sniper? Why'd you volunteer for this kind of duty? Start losing your touch?"

 

Fuck this. They weren't listening. They needed to hear what he was saying. "I said before you got here, and I'll say it again. I didn't volunteer for this. At least not the way you think. I swear to God and on my honor I never agreed to become a lycanthrope." He clenched his hands so hard his nails drew blood, but the pain calmed him. "It isn't the way it went down, damn it."

 

Suddenly agitated, Richard pushed off the wall and loomed over Jake. He'd been getting progressively angrier with the length of time it was taking to get to the meat of the tale, and he'd had enough. "They why don't you stop arguing and tell us what the hell did go down?"

 

Anita laid a hand on Richard's arm, and he subsided back. "Tell us what happened that last time in Afghanistan," she asked softly.

 

Jake flinched hard and stared her. He didn't know what Richard's problem was, and he didn't care. And he wasn't telling anyone what had gone down that last engagement. Ever. "I don't owe you that," he snarled, a little harsher than he intended but unable to hold in the emotion. "I don't owe anyone that but myself and God."

 

"I apologize," Anita murmured. "We apologize. Please continue."

 

Jake nodded unhappily. "I took the man on his word of honor. Semper Fi. I believed in the code of loyalty and commitment. But I hadn't reckoned with ambition and the corp being stretched too thin. The Colonel was pushing for Brigadier General, and saw a success in Afghanistan as his route to that star. And I was a decorated Marine over there. So it should have come as no surprise when my next set of orders came in exactly as the last; that sandy hellhole."

 

Bobby Lee caught on first. "Fuck. You went Away Without Leave."

 

Jake shrugged. "Term they used was desertion. In time of warfare."

 

Bobby Lee swore softly. "That's…"

 

"A capital offense." Jake gave a wan smile. "To be precise, as my JAG lawyer informed me, I had been charged with Article 85, `desertion with the intent to avoid hazardous duty or shirk important service.' Nice young squid, but a navy guy and about as green as they came. I was convicted, and offered an alternative to sentencing."

 

"By agreeing to submit to infection?" Richard asked incredulously. Anita sighed in defeat. It didn't take the marks to feel his rising anger. Even after all these years, he still resented being accidentally turned, by a bad vaccine of all things. Hated it, and couldn't comprehend anyone willingly entering into a lycanthrope status. And still enough of a boy scout to think that the government would never have done this clandestinely to an unwitting victim.

 

Jake's reaction was just as heartfelt. "NO! Did you not hear me when I said this wasn't voluntary? Why are you so dead on sure I volunteered to be a wolf to save my hide?" he answered vehemently, his eyes blazing and his nerves dangerously close to allowing the wolf to take control. He shuddered, eyes closed, as he took deep breaths to calm himself.

 

"No. All they said was that IF I signed commitment papers to allow certain experiments in acuity and agility enhancements, I would not be subject to the execution order and all reference to the desertion would be purged from my records. I'd be an honorable man again."

 

Anita pressed the question. "Be sure of this Jake. Nothing you signed or verbally agreed to consisted of lycanthropy?"

 

"Nothing. I'll be honest, Ms. Blake. I jumped at the chance, even though there was a high risk element involved. You have to understand, I have a family that would have been devastated by my…means of death. I didn't want twenty years to mean nothing, and I felt this was my only option."

 

"Dear God," Jason breathed, the dismay in his voice mirroring the sympathetic looks he was finally receiving. Dear Lord, someone finally believed him. "That's just barbaric. Shifters have gotten execution orders written against them for doing the same thing. Fucking hypocrites."

 

"But why?" Bobby Lee demanded. He'd been in the service, and to do that to one of your own was inconceivable. "Why the experimentation? To what gain?"

 

Before Jake could go on, Anita heard the familiar trill of her cell on vibrate, and she held up a stilling hand. God bless her enhanced awareness from the marks; she could leave it on silent and still be aware of the insect like hum of a call. Still shocked by what she'd just heard, and expecting it to be Micah, she wasn't quite prepared for the caller ID awaiting her.

 

Edward.


	9. Chapter 9

Well, didn't this just fucking figure.

 

"Your timing is impeccable, my friend. As in it never rains with us, it pours. Nice napalm droplets to burn our collective asses," Anita murmured half to herself.

 

She did not need this. They did not need this. Edward calling at that very moment wasn't coincidental. She briefly thought of not answering, but that would only forestall the inevitable. And looking on the bright side, at the very least his attempt to contact her meant he intended to follow the semblance of politeness and protocol.

 

But that leap of logic did little to still her fast beating heart. Edward was going to be a further complication in a long agonizing list of complications that had cropped up since Jake four footed his way into their lives.

 

"Ma Petite?" Jean-Claude asked worriedly, picking up on her sweat stink and rapid pulse. He wasn't alone. Richard's dark eyes were pinched as well. Hell, everyone was giving her worried looks, and she back pedaled away creating some space and pseudo privacy for herself. No sense in allowing Edward to glean any info she did not want him to have from background noise.

 

And she only had a few more rings before it dumped into voicemail hell. "Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!" she swore explosively. Death was worth a swear word or two, and she held a finger to her lips for silence from the others as she answered his call.

 

She didn't even get the opportunity to say hello.

 

"Anita," Edward's no nonsense voice sounded in her ear, deceptively laconic but with an annoying hint of smug attached. "Got an AWOL lycanthrope you'd like to confess to having?" His tone was all Ted, easy friendly with a good old boy bent, but Anita knew better, and allowed herself a brief moment of irritation at the good cop routine he was sliding in on her. Shame, Edward, she thought. We go back too far for that. She mentally ran through her options, but in reality her list was short. She had none. It was useless to lie; he obviously already was well apprised of the situation. So she did the next best thing. She stalled.

 

"Now why do you think that?" Anita asked cautiously, treading a fine line. It would not do to upset Edward. That generally had an incendiary effect. "Who and what do you think I have?"

 

The bastard chuckled at that. Actually chuckled, like he was amused by her efforts and chucking her paternally under the chin. Screw the kid gloves with him; she was starting to get pissed off, but tamped it down to pay attention to his reply.

 

"I got a call from my friends at the No Such Agency. Want me to find a rabbited shifter that is a `major threat to National Security' in St. Louis." The amusement faded slightly from his voice. "Now, I know that a lycanthrope doesn't shed in St Louis without you and your triumvirate of power knowing how many hairs hit the ground, so I figured I'd save myself some time and call you first. Care to share?"

 

Anita snorted. That hadn't taken long. At least he could be counted on to get straight to the point. "Jesus, Edward, that's lame. When are they going to get tired of trotting out that National Security drivel? So what, they want you to bring him in and you're looking for me to make your life simpler and richer?"

 

Edward pounced on that. "Ah. You do have him, since you admit to his being a male. And you know better Anita. I don't get calls for retrievals. The request came with an `extreme prejudice' tag to it."

 

Sweet mother of... "An order of execution," she intoned flatly. Richard and Jean-Claude tensed at that, and the entire room stilled even further, if that were possible. Breaths slowed to almost non-existent as all the shifters, even the clueless Jake, attempted to blend into their surroundings and avoid the danger they couldn't see. Instinct was wonderful to survival, and Edward coming in to fulfill a kill was a danger to all the preternaturals in the city.

 

Anita made soothing motions with her hands as she listened to Edward's response. "In so many words. But I got curious. What is the Military and NSA doing with a lycanthrope?" He clucked officiously. "Against policy. And if this one is so dangerous, why no call from Anita for help, or any headlines of gruesome content? Something's missing, and I don't take a job with this many inconclusive variables. So I decide to give an old partner a call, someone I trusted with my life. To get the truth of the situation."

 

So Edward was suspicious, and digging for information. This could bode well for them. Anita answered guardedly, "You looking for the truth? Ok, fine. Maybe we do have him. And maybe he isn't dangerous. Maybe this isn't all it seems."

 

There was a long pause, long enough that Anita thought the connection had been lost. Finally Edward's voice continued, distracted, like he was mentally going through the options. "Maybe it isn't. Like I said, I don't take any case involving preternaturals blindly. So I did some digging of my own. Lo and behold, at first blush a Master Sergeant Jake Reed, my large payout target, doesn't exist. Not as a civilian, not as a member of the armed forces. Nothing."

 

Well damn, Anita thought. Someone was covering their tracks. Edward had just done her a favor, too, whether he knew it or not. Reed's story was nicely being authenticated without any digging on their own. "Odd, wouldn't you say?" she answered, injecting just the right note of disbelief into her voice.

 

"Very," Edward concurred. "Being the resourceful man that I am, and not liking the feeling that I'm being played for a fool, I hack a little deeper. And I find that contrary to public files, a Jake Reed does exist, except he's listed as a KIA in Afghanistan. Sloppy work if you ask me, but I wasn't the one deleting and doctoring the records." His voice hardened, and Anita could tell he was growing impatient with the verbal fencing.

 

"So tell me, Anita, how does a lifer like Reed go from being one of the few and the proud to an on the lam werewolf under your and friends protection? With a military record that has him dead?"

 

Worried by the snippets of conversation they could overhear, Jean-Claude and Richard pressed closer. They were a distraction she couldn't afford and mentally she warned them back. "Like I said, it's not all it appears."

 

"Nothing ever is, Anita." Edward's voice hardened. "Confirm it for me. Is he with you?"

 

Game over. "Yes," she answered decisively.

 

"Is he dangerous?"

 

Anita looked at the half naked man sitting on the bed, looking worried and lost. Confused? Maybe. Lethal? Definitely. Dangerous?

 

She made up her mind and committed them all. "No. No, he isn't. Not in the way they'd like you to believe, and not deserving of an execution. My word on that."

 

Silence followed. Anita broke first. "He was railroaded into an experiment the government had no right to be running. Believe that, Edward. Now you confirm something for me. Are you planning on taking the job?"

 

"No," was Edward's prompt reply. "Never did like being lied to, and it sounds like they got caught playing with fire. But understand this Anita. The powers that be are covering their tracks. They want him dead, and they'll start making all evidence of this disappear. Quickly."

 

Anita's mind clicked into overdrive. She hadn't thought that far. "This being the entire project? That compounds things Edward. There's a Corporal in a local hospital. He'd been transporting him somewhere when there was an accident, which is how he escaped. And we haven't confirmed it yet, but we believe there are others. Other experiments."

 

Edward sighed, and she was shocked to realize it was a sad sound. "That may be a was, Anita. They're intent on containing this, and if they can't get him liquidated they'll start destroying evidence. All evidence. You know that."

 

Shit. "I know it. This is crazy, Edward. Why would they be doing this now, with all the anti-government publicity about preternaturals? And how the heck could they use shifters to their advantage?"

 

"Did Reed know?"

 

Anita shook her head as she answered, a useless gesture in a phone conversation, but it helped her focus her thoughts. "Not really. At least, not that I know. We haven't gotten that far in the story. Only that they were trying to increase physical abilities, and that he had this done to him against his will."

 

"Then you need to find out more information, quickly," Edward replied urgently. She listened quietly as he ticked off priorities. "Where he was and where they were taking him. What they were testing. How many others were involved. How they intended to use him for military purposes. Anything and everything."

 

"I'm beginning to see that. And I'm not sure I'm happy about it."

 

"You're in deep again, that's for sure. No surprise with the company you keep." She let that one slide. It was the truth, even if he meant it to be harsh. And he wasn't finished yet.

 

"So what do you want to do here, Anita?" Edward questioned.

 

That took her by surprise. "What do you care?"

 

Edward paused. "I don't, other than I can empathize with being fucked over by a government entity. And whatever they're planning with shifters will backfire on them, you know that. They aren't military or spook material. How the hell do you control them during a full moon? And if you don't do something they'll just burn ground here and try somewhere else again when the fire's out. And maybe it'll be uglier pieces that we'll have to clean up then."

 

"Are you volunteering to come help me?" She half hoped he would take her up on it, complications with the aforementioned company and all. They needed his spook expertise in this.

 

She was surprised at the reluctance in his voice. "No, I don't think that's feasible for me. Too close to home, and too dangerous to get my name attached to any involvement. But I will give you some advice. If you're planning on doing anything further, and I know you are, you'd better hurry."


	10. Chapter 10

Anita slowly shut her cell, the audible click of its closing sounding like a gunshot in the suddenly quiet room, and several of her on edge shifter companions visibly flinched at the sound. "My, problems do come and go quickly here!" she murmured against the closed phone. The whole damn clandestine affair had just ratcheted up a notch in the danger column. No big surprise, because nothing ever was easy in St. Louis, but for once she'd like a simple problem. Like Bert overbooking her, or one of the RPIT guys giving her shit for being a petite woman in a macho man's world, or her step-mom annoying her about family functions. Normal, mundane problems.

 

Yeah, right. Like that was ever going to be her life again. Normal had long since exited, stage right, and had no sane intention of coming back.

 

Case in point. She gave her current abnormal problem an appraising look. Dinner out, nothing out of the ordinary, and suddenly Edward is being called in for an assassination. Jake, a/k/a abnormal problem, stared back at her, his expression guarded and cool, but his eyes betrayed his inner tension. He'd obviously heard enough to realize his danger, and couldn't completely mask his concern and anxiety.

 

He wasn't alone. She sensed Bobby Lee moving in closer to her, positioning himself where he could do the most good if Jake decided to go squirrelly. His expression mirrored the ex-marine's, and she briefly chided herself on not leaving the room to take the call. Enhanced hearing had its advantages and drawbacks; on the one hand, not much got by a lycanthrope, but then again, they were kind of hard to comfort with a plausible lie.

 

Bobby Lee gave her a lopsided grin. "We're ass deep again, aren't we girl?"

 

She couldn't help but give him a faint smile back. Bobby Lee was one of her favorites, and one of the few bodyguards that could get away with that sort of easy familiarity. He'd earned it saving her skin multiple times and watching friends die in the process. That alone secured him a few liberties in her book.

 

"What else? And with zip time. At least it's not a scary preternatural power this time."

 

"No ma'am. Just a scary government one. Might just be worse."

 

Jean-Claude nodded his agreement as he sidled in closer to Jake. "Oui. A foe I have little experience doing battle with in this country and age. But if it is speed and subterfuge that is required, then, mes amis, we are well armed." He gave a pointed look at Reed then met her eyes. A silken voice whispered in her mind, `Hard truth now, ma petite. He came to us for aid, and submitted, oui? And we succored him for the night. But now that we know his past, and the predicament, is this a battle we truly wish to engage in? One we can win, or, even in winning, will it lose us the war?'

 

Anita held his gaze, even though the implication of what he was saying was disquieting enough to make her want to turn away. But it was a valid question, and she could tell from Richard's expression of shock and surprise that Jean-Claude had included him in the mental discussion as well. But the master vampire was right, cold calculation aside. All three of them needed to be in agreement on this.

 

So what did they owe Jake? Was he worth risking people she loved? Risking even more backlash against the vampires, with the equal rights law as tenuous as it was? Cold hard logic said maybe he wasn't. Yes, he'd come to them for help, but they hadn't known the whole story. The ramifications were staggering, and needed to be addressed, but they needed time. Time that might be bought with Jake. She felt herself begin to go icy, her mind telling her to distance herself from the man, to build up barriers to lessen the hurt if they cut him loose or worse, turned him in. The man. She cringed a little at herself at that. So much easier to be dispassionate when you denied them a name. Jake knew what she was thinking as well, and she flinched as his shoulders sagged in defeat, his eyes losing their cool expression as he reconciled himself to defeat. She grew angry at that, angry at responsibility, angry at the world. Damn it, what could she do? What should she? She didn't know Reed. She knew and loved most of the people in the room with her.

 

Richard apparently had none of her qualms. He closed in as well, and laid a hand on Jake's shoulder. "We take care of pack. And if we turn a blind eye to this…"

 

Anita sighed. Boy scout Richard. There was never a question of his vote, really. "I know, I know. We might as well resign ourselves to isolationism and persecution," she finished for him, torn by her quandary of doing what was right in general to doing what was right for her people. "But our people might get hurt…"

 

Jason's voice broke in quietly, "First they came for the communists, and I didn't speak up, because I wasn't a communist. Then they came for the sick, the so-called incurables, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't mentally ill. Then they came for the Jews and I didn't speak up, because I wasn't a Jew. Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak up for me."

 

Well, shit. Nothing like having your nose rubbed in it. "Damn you, Jason. I knew sending you to college would be a mistake," Anita groused, amazed as usual at the boy's intuitiveness. Somehow Jason always knew the right thing to say.

 

Jason gave her his usual cheeky grin. "That's because you're sexist and only see me as a sex toy!" The grin quickly left his face, and he looked long and hard at all of them. "I don't see the problem."

 

Jamil took his position at Richard's side. Apparently a consensus had been reached. "Me neither."

 

Jean-Claude eyed them all and shrugged. "Oui. I do agree as well. He has done nothing to deserve this fate, and he is my animal. My responsibility." He held a quelling hand up to Richard. "Our responsibility."

 

Anita's chest ached. There weren't finer kinds of people, dead and furry aside. And there really wasn't any other answer. What did they owe Jake? What they owed any shifter or preternatural who was honest and law abiding. Aid and support.

 

She turned her attention back to the stunned problem of the hour. The poor bastard looked like he didn't know which way was up; understandable considering the roller coaster ride his life had been on the past twenty-four hours. Hell, the last twenty-four minutes. "Ok, Mr. Reed, decisions made and time's up. Welcome to the pack, and as you've surmised we're going to help you, but there are others at stake as well." She gave him honor points for wanting to come clean about the why of his current predicament, and his justifications, but the why no longer mattered. They had more pressing concerns. "As you gleaned from my conversation, Edward believes that the plug may be about to be pulled on this little affair, and he generally knows what he's talking about with these spook type things. And by pulling the plug, it includes cleaning up loose ends like the driver of the ambulance and any other shifters at the facility where you were being held. We need intel, and we need it fast. Where were you being imprisoned, and where were you being taken?"

 

Reed rubbed his faced tiredly, his expression defeated. "I'm sorry, I just don't know. I swear to God that's the truth. I wish I did, but I don't remember anything from the time they fucking slipped that silver gag in my mouth and started the I.V. juice flowing." He gave her a pleading look. "Please help the corporal in the ambulance. He was kind to me, and sure as shit doesn't deserve to die because of it."

 

Anita nodded. She understood the sentiment. Besides, they needed the man alive. It made little sense really that they'd keep Reed in the loop on his destination or whereabouts, and this unknown corporal knew where he picked them up and where they were going. She spoke to the room in general, "We need to get to Mercy and the injured marine there. He should be able to fill in those blanks, and he's going to be targeted."

 

Bobby gave a thumbs up and pulled out his cell, and she relaxed minutely. Raphael's people were top notch and would handle it. Score one for having capable friends and allies.

 

Which gave her time to continue her interrogation. "Next question. Why were you being moved? Do you know that at least?"

 

Jake gave a wry grin. "Yeah, that I know. Behavioral issues. I was less than cooperative with some of their tests, especially with shifting. They wanted me to shift to half form, and I keep going full wolf to piss them off."

 

"Why was that so important?"

 

Reed mimed pulling a trigger. "You can still handle a weapon, as long as it was modified, in half form if you had hands. At least that was the theory they were going to pursue."

 

Anita shuddered. Damn it, the military had apparently decided the drawbacks were worth the enhanced abilities. She wondered briefly how Reed had been turned, then shelved it for another time. More pressing questions needed answering. Like how many they were rescuing, and how fucked up they might be. If Reed was a convict, railroaded or not, the others probably were as well. And they might not be as innocent as Jake. It took a lot to get a death sentence, and most of what it took was unsavory.

 

They'd cross that bridge when they got there. At least it would be pack justice, Thronnos Rokke justice. "Where there any others?"

 

"Yes, Ma'am." She smiled at the stiff formality. Show a marine a commanding officer and he responded. "Two others that I had contact with, but that's it. We weren't allowed to interact in human form, and we only fought in wolf. But I got the impression there were others; how many I can't say."

 

Damn. Another unknown. "Any other shifter types?"

 

"No," Jake answered emphatically. "That I know for sure from the medical staff. They only used wolves. They said through experimentation they'd decided that wolves were the best suited for the project. It had something to do with the pack instinct and a natural desire to obey, and the ease of infection. At least that's what they thought; it was one of the issues. Apparently hierarchy doesn't necessarily follow the human form, or even extend to humans."

 

Ex-military, Bobby Lee was the most outraged. "Experimentation? Shit, fire and corruption, they still couldn't get it right. At least that's kind of comforting; they couldn't have had an indoctrinated shifter advising them. Or if they did, the poor bastard did the right thing and lied."

 

"So what were they after, boy? What did they do with you?"

 

Reed dropped his head. "It started out with tests mostly. Coordination. Strength. Visual skills. My range as a sniper visually increased to the point that no known rifle could make the distance I was seeing, and that was in my human form. They were drooling at that ability; I think for calling in air strikes and for reconnaissance. Then they tried to concentrate on control. The how and when of the change, outside of the full moon. Measuring the down time after a shift back. Things like that." Jake stopped there, his brow furrowed as he tried to remember anything that might help. He snapped a look at Jean-Claude as something occurred to him.

 

"Vampires!"

 

"What?" Anita and Richard demanded simultaneously.

 

"Vampires. I remember Dr. Voye dictating to an assistant that they needed a vampire subject to test against the lycanthropes. To see which strain of preternatural was stronger." He rubbed his thighs as he looked at Jean-Claude. "I don't think they have a clue about the vampire affinity thing."

 

An affinity that was about to be put to use. Jean-Claude reached forward, and gently but firmly cupped Jake's chin. "Answer carefully, Mon Loup. Was there a reason for this interest beyond a mere testing of strength?"

 

Jake swayed slightly under his Master's touch. It was a pleasurable feeling, almost sexual, and that thought didn't even faze him. It was just what it was. "Not that was said overtly, Sir. But from what I remember of their comments, I would surmise that lycanthropes were being considered as a weapon against vampires."

 

Jean-Claude swore eloquently in French, his eyes fading to blue as his power began to crackle about him as his agitation grew. The wolves in the room shivered at the power boost, and Anita braced herself for the coming tsunami. "Jean-Claude!" she warned, trying to forestall the explosion.

 

"Non, ma petite! I will not lose control, but this…this…machination is intolerable! So now we see the true intent of the law? To appease us, to allow them time to come up with a weapon against us?"

 

"I don't think that was the objective, Jean-Claude. At least not completely. If they wanted to wipe vampires out, they can do it through sheer numbers. You know that. You've always known that."

 

"But not without casualties, ma petite. This way is much more palatable. Having lycanthropes, trained animals, do their dirty work for them. No humans would be at risk."

 

Anita froze at that. They all did; it had a certain logic to it that was unassailable. And it seemed as though the only reason they didn't succeed was a lack of intelligence on, or a simple unwillingness to acknowledge, the richness of shifter communities and histories. A were might war on a vampire, but for the good of his clan, or for survival reasons. Not only as a war weapon of a people that cared nothing for them, apparently.

 

Bobby Lee cleared his throat in the stunned silence of the room.

 

"I was trying to wait until you were through with your interrogation, Anita, but I can't wait no longer. Not now. This is just getting worse." He drew himself to his full height. "As you instructed, I informed my King of what's transpired, Anita. And he had some interesting information to add to the mix."

 

Great, more trouble, Anita groaned internally. "Why so formal?"

 

"Because this situation requires formality. Raphael already knew about the corporal. He'd been contacted by the leader of the Rodere of Columbus, asking permission for one of his rats to enter St. Louis to see his injured brother."

 

Anita's eyes widened. "Let me guess. Said injured brother is in the marines and had a horrible car accident?"

 

Bobby Lee smiled and slid his eyes to Jake. "Yeah, amazing how tangled this is getting. Raphael gave his permission, of course, but said there was a thread of urgency to it that he didn't like. In addition, the Columbus King requested our Rodere's protection for his rat's mundane brother. Not entirely unheard of, but very out of the ordinary outside of clan relations. Raphael agreed."

 

"Meaning?"

 

"Meaning the Corporal isn't a moron, and knows he's in trouble. At least he know enough and was scared enough to call his brother for help. And he is now under St. Louis Rodere's protection."

 

Fuck. There were wererats at Mercy; ex-military, ex-mercenary, ex-bad guy wererats who knew their shit and were in guard mode. RPIT needed to know that a big bad ugly was potentially on the horizon. Yeah, like that was going to shock them.

 

She flipped open her cell and quickly flipped through the entries to Zerbrowski. She never got the chance to dial before her phone began the annoying trill of Ted Nugent's song.

 

Zerbrowski's number. Somehow she just wasn't surprised.

 

"Anita. Remember our earlier conversation?"

 

Anita sighed. "About CIA types, and other things spooky?"

 

"No, about how you crave my masculine body and rue the day Katie got to me first," Zerbrowski snorted. "Yes, about the spooky things. Two guys, non-descript suits, sunglasses, no necks. Showed up at the hospital and tried to slip into the injured marine's room at Mercy. Luckily, or unluckily, the marine's brother was there. Care to take a guess as to what transpired?"

 

"His brother shifted to his wererat form and tossed the two guys into the next county?"

 

There was a pregnant pause. "Yeah, exactly. You could have warned me, Blake. I'd have appreciated the timely heads up. And in case your interested, I've got pandemonium here, and the place is swarming with what I can only assume are Raphael's people. Hell, the big man's here as well."

 

Anita swore. "I'm sorry; I know you aren't going to want to hear this, but I called as soon as I realized you might have a problem. Something ugly is going down, and things are developing almost out of control. We're on our way there to talk to the Corporal. Let Raphael's people do their job."

 

"And that would be?"

 

"Keeping the man alive."


	11. Chapter 11

With the vampire law in danger of being overthrown, Jean-Claude and Anita discover a secret that could either help the cause or completely destroy them all.

 

`Damn, that turn had to be on two wheels', Jake marveled, splaying his hands on the vehicle's upholstery to steady himself as Jamil drove them to Mercy Hospital at a decidedly unsafe speed. He knew time was of the essence, and that the man was a werewolf with some bad ass reflexes, but the other drivers on the roads weren't, and even if it was the dead of night, St. Louis was a major city. There was always traffic.

 

Once more traveling in a straight line, he deliberately forced his muscles to unclench, and distracted himself by rubbing an appreciative hand across the leather seat. It was soft, buttery, and the smell of saddle soap told him that someone took good care of the vehicle, even if it was a few years old. The scent tickled at his memory, reminding him of a childhood of quarter horses and afternoon rides. He pushed that recollection ruthlessly away. That wasn't his life, that carefree kind of existence. Hadn't been his life for too God damn long.

 

He took a shaky breath and let it out slowly, trying to center himself. God help him, but this high speed ride to the hospital was actually the first down time he'd had. The first chance he'd gotten to examine his predicament. His life. He'd thought it over in the clinic, the Orwellian surrealism of that place and the experiments nearly driving him insane. And he didn't care; he'd made his Faustian bargain, and if he hadn't thought enough to ask more questions or read the fine print, then shame on him. It didn't matter really; lycanthrope or not, he knew going in that he wasn't ever going to get out of that place alive. The only thing he had was being a pain in the ass, making them work for their findings.

 

And it had won him his freedom. Except now he was none so sure it was a good thing. Talk about frying pan and fire. No argument, he felt safer, almost akin to the people here, but he knew Jack about their world and wasn't sure he'd like all the revelations it held. There were things, feelings, about being a wolf that were just flat disturbing, and these people just seemed to be at peace with it.

 

Were they men or animals? Was he?

 

More out of a habit of thoroughness than an expectation of success, he tried the automatic window and door lock buttons. Neither worked; they had the child safety features engaged. No big surprise. They were all werewolves, and as such were aware that a locked SUV door wouldn't contain him for long. But it would slow him up just long enough for Jamil and Jason, the front seat occupants, to stop the vehicle and then stop his possible exit, stage right. Should he decide to rabbit. Like he had anywhere else to go.

 

But it was smart. Tactical. He would have done the same in their shoes. So he just sat back and let the lethargy that had been threatening to engulf him begin its inexorable crawl up his limbs. What word had he kept using with Anita as he told his tale of woe? Complicated. Everything was all so complicated, and fuck if he wasn't weary of trying to unsnarl his life.

 

A movement up front showed Jamil glancing at him in the rear view mirror, his expression pensive. Fuck it. He got it. The muscled black man with the impressive dreads thought him an unacceptable risk, even if he had thrown in his support behind Richard's, the Ulfric's, decision to accept and help him. Ulfric. So damn much he didn't know. He sighed and looked out the tinted window. Not a damned thing he could do about the attitude now, and the creeping lethargy was fast convincing him that he shouldn't even bother trying. He'd felt better back at the home of the vampire; soothed. A part of a whole. Better when he was under the gun, pumped on adrenaline and letting instinct and training take over. But that was then. Now he just felt drained and pushed beyond his limit.

 

Not that it hadn't been interesting; the verbal battle that had ensued soon after Anita had hung up her cell phone from her second call. It was a revelation. Shit, he'd only been a Sergeant. He was occasionally asked his opinion, but for the most part orders were orders. Cut, dried, and handed to him with the self centered assuredness only an Officer in the Corp could exude. And he'd always assumed the process leading up to the decision making was the same. Quick and decisive and with agreement all around.

 

Well, they'd arrived at the current plan fairly quickly, he granted, but smooth and decisive weren't adjectives he'd use for the process. These people weren't military, that was for sure. Though to be fair, he really didn't know what high level officer meetings were like. They could be just as heated as the one he'd just witnessed. But at least the highest ranking officer was always visibly in charge. It was hard to tell who was with this group.

 

"This is going ugly quick, Jean Claude. I have to get to the hospital and help Zerbrowski. I'll bring the Corporal back here, if I can. But I'll question him as soon as I get there."

 

"Non, ma petite," Jean-Claude clipped out angrily. " It is foolishness to go alone. You may need assistance. Clout. I will accompany you."

 

Richard snorted. "This isn't a vampire issue. It's a lycanthrope one. We'll handle it, the pack and the Rodere. No need for your presence."

 

Jean-Claude's voice softened, deepening as it took on a reasonable cant. Jake had blinked and backed away slightly at that. He didn't survive multiple tours as a sniper in `stan without developing an uncanny knack to sense a trap.

 

"Of course, Ulfric. Of course it should be you who accompanies ma petite. You will go there in your capacity as the wolf king for the entire world to see, and take charge of the proceedings. But, non, I must be mistaken! Or have you actually decided to allow your true self to be known to the world?"

 

"You dead son of a…."

 

"Christ! Enough of this!" Anita had shouted, planting herself between the two of them. "There isn't time for this! I'll take Jamil and Jason. Bobby Lee and Claudia are on duty here and the hospital is swarming with Raphael's men anyway, so they should stay. Hell, Raphael is there as well. It's safe enough." She'd gone over to the werewolf Richard and gently placed a hand on his panting chest. "He's right. You can't risk being exposed." Jake had known weres tried to stay in the closet; it'd been more of a slap to him personally once he realized he too was in the same boat. If he was allowed that luxury.

 

"And you, Jean-Claude," she'd chided. "Adding the Master of the City into the mix isn't going to make it any easier. Please. I'll handle this, and I'll be safe."

 

With a tenderness he hadn't thought possible for a vampire, Jean-Claude had smiled and enveloped her in his arms. "Je taime, ma petite. Amazing that it is you who holds her temper in, a trait you so rarely employ. You are correct. But take Claudia as well. Raphael will wish to speak with her, I have no doubt. Now go. We have wasted enough time as it is, Richard and I. We will await your return. And I will avail us of more modern resources. I may not be conversant with political squabbles of this era, but I do know the proper combatants to employ. Lawyers and politicians. Both of whom I have paid significant funds to, and will insist on a return to my investment."

 

He'd spoken up then, when it seemed as though they'd forgotten him. That they intended to leave him behind.

 

"Um, hate to add to the argument when it seems to be over, but I'm going too. Please," he'd added as he saw the negative looks on their faces.

 

Anita shook her head as she grabbed her purse. "Not a good idea, Jake. The bad guys? The ones who want you back? Well they're there. And bringing you to them like a wrapped present is stupid."

 

"I know. But I owe that man, and I won't leave him there in harm's way while I'm safe. And besides," he reasoned desperately. "If things go really bad I'm a good bargaining chip. You can give me to them in trade for the Corporal. They want me more; I'm physical proof that can blow this mess sky high. The Corporal is just word against word."

 

He could tell Anita had grown angry at his words; Richard as well. Jean-Claude had gone thoughtful, reassessing him. "Vous êtes un homme honorable et digne, Mon Loup," had been his soft reply. "Formidable. He goes."

 

Anita had opened her mouth to protest then shut it at the look of finality in vampire's blue eyes. "Fine. Then he'd better get his ass in gear with the rest of us. Zerbrowski is gonna have a coronary if I don't get there soon."

 

So here he was, and future and depression aside, he had one thing left to do for his honor. Help the man who had helped him. Both God and his country had forsaken him, he was pretty sure; he had no past to think fondly of, his present was tenuous at best, and what kind of future did he have as a lycanthrope? He was dead to everyone who knew him, and he'd probably be a hunted man for the remainder of his existence. The ennui that had claimed his limbs reached his heart, and he stared listlessly out the window. The least he could do was make sure the Corporal didn't go down with him.

 

"Dollar for your thoughts," an overly loud and entirely too perky voice chirped from the front of the SUV.

 

He jumped slightly, then registered the voice. Jason. The cocksure boy. He should have known. Even his depressed mood couldn't completely suppress a small smile from gracing his face. "Aren't you offering about .99 cents too much?"

 

"Nope." Jason grinned. "It's an antiquated saying and I wisely adjusted for inflation. And I wanted your attention. So, dollar for your thoughts?"

 

"Not worth a buck, boy."

 

"Don't knock the offer. I'm a psych major so the angsty pity party shit you've got written all over your face is probably paper worthy material. Let me guess – woe, woe, I'm a lycanthrope and I didn't ask for it and what, oh what is to become of me?"

 

Jake sighed and turned his attention back to the window. He should have had the urge to nail the kid, but he couldn't work up the anger. Maybe if he ignored him Jason would get the hint and turn away.

 

No such luck, and it was Jamil that broke that news to him. "Might as well answer him and do us both a favor. He'll only keep pestering you until you do, and I no more want to listen to it than you do."

 

Jake sighed in defeat. "Fine. Yes, I'm thinking life is pretty bleak now, and that all I'm doing is causing problems to people I hardly know, and yes, I don't see much of a future. Essentially what you said, but without the damsel bitch whining undertone."

 

Jason nudged Jamil with his elbow. "Told you. He's got that suicide cast to his eye." Jason's face turned serious. "Look, I know you don't want to hear this, but none of us is here the easy or pleasant way. But we're here. And we cope. And there are compensations."

 

Compensations. Now that worked at pissing him off. "What the fuck do you know? You're all here because you want to be. And you have places here. I'm persona non grata; and yeah, I'm a shifter, and to tell you the truth boy, I haven't had time to wrap my brain around either concept and I don't know that I want to if I tried."

 

Jason wagged a finger at him, and he resisted the urge to bite it off. So much for not being angry. "You're jumping to stupid conclusions," Jason lectured. "Yeah, some of us chose to be this.

 

Most of us, however, were attacks or accidents. You want to know about me? It's so fucking sad it's pathetic. I'm young, and stupid, and the most amazing looking woman I've ever seen says she wants to fuck me. That she'll turn me into a wolf, an experience more powerful and vibrant than anything I've ever had before. So I jump at the chance. I jumped. And she tied me down, fucked me raw, and at the end, when she was coming for the third time, he face lengthened and her hands turned to claws and she worked me into a bloody mess. And left me. To survive and turn, or to die from the wounds. Didn't much matter to her; she'd gotten her rocks off. Raina was like that." He leaned down and swiped the moisture in his eyes off onto his sleeves. "One fucked up bitch. But that's my story, and I've shared it. What do you got that's worse?"

 

Jake sank back in his seat, stunned. He'd thought them all so together or something. The kid was right in his own way. He'd been thinking like he was the only one in the world unhappy and with a raw deal. "It wasn't the infecting that was worse, I give you that. It was a series of injections, inoculations they'd called them. What the hell did I know? I wasn't in any position to argue. Then the first full moon came, and with it my own version of hell."

 

"Didn't they counsel you on your first change?" Jason asked, curious. Even Jamil was dividing his attention between trying to kill them through vehicular homicide and listening to the conversation.

 

Jake barked out a harsh laugh. "Counsel? They left me in a room alone. I didn't know what was coming. Oh sure, I knew something was odd when they shoved me in a room buck naked after giving me those series of shots over three days, but I didn't expect that." Jake shuddered. "It hurt. God it hurt. I've never begged before in my life, but I begged them to help me. To stop the pain. I didn't even remember being a wolf. They had to show me the videos to make me believe I was a lycanthrope."

 

"That's beyond sadistic." Jamil said, his face getting dangerously clouded. "And if they had no conscience about doing that…"

 

Jason finished for him. "They'd have no conscience about terminating the remaining subjects, burning the center to the ground, and razing the ruins to hide their tracks. Which was Anita's whole point." He turned back to Jake. "I'm sorry man. I wasn't trying to be flippant. At least I had Richard and Stephen show up to take me under their wing. To mentor me and help me." He gave a pitying look at Jake. "I'm sorry."

 

"Yeah, story of my career. Doesn't change anything and doesn't make me want the future that's facing me."

 

"Well you're gonna have to face the present at least," Jamil answered as he swung into the ER parking lot of Mercy and maneuvered around the St. Louis PD and RPIT vehicles into a decidedly illegal parking spot on the grass, Claudia close on his bumper. "And it's no rosier than the futures you're envisioning. Welcome to the world of the shifter, man. Never a dull moment here in St. Louis."

 

"I can see. At least this I'm ready for."

 

***********************************************************************

 

Jesus, Anita thought, Zerbrowski wasn't kidding. Pandemonium was an apt description. Hell, it was probably an understatement. Rank panic and chaos came closer. RPIT was well represented, as were the regular boys in blue, and coupled with angry hospital personnel created an angry buzzing around the corridor outside the wounded corporal's room. At least she suspected it was the marine's room. She doubted anyone else rated the solid wall of wererat muscle guarding the doorway.

 

Zerbrowski hustled over, as livid as she'd ever seen him. She winced at the coming lecture. At least she didn't have to wait long for an explanation.

 

"Blake, we have got to work on our communication. I can't do my job, and I can't help, if you continue to keep me out of the loop."

 

"Not this time, Zerbrowski. From my lips to God's ear, I swear to you that all this all happened fast, and you knew there was a problem about the same time I did." She gave him a hard, pleading look. "We need in that room, all of us, and I know the wererats will let us by. You need to come in as well, as a civilian police witness. This is bad, Zee."

 

Exasperated, Zerbrowski waved his arms and yelled, "You're telling me, Anita? The government types, and I only make the assumption they were government types based on observation, weren't very happy. They had high level spook stamped into their genetic code. No ID to pin them as anything but average Joes, mind you, but the two of them gave off the same vibe as that Ted Forrester friend of yours."

 

Anita started a little at that observation. She'd always assumed RPIT thought of Edward as just another Executioner. Zerbrowski was observant, and smart, and he liked to hide that he was both behind a slovenly Columbo like persona. Worse, he still wasn't done yelling at her. "They were making screeching noises and protestations of innocence and honest mistakes as they were hauled away. But they got caught with their pants down. Hypos of God knows what and they had no right to be in that room."

 

That alone told her they were out of time. "Stupid of them. This has gotten blown out of control and they should know that. You getting the syringes analyzed?"

 

"Give me credit, Blake! Yes, I pulled out my Detective Work for Dummies book and had them sent to the lab. Why is that man in danger from them? And is that the reason for all of this?"

 

The that in question was Jake. The marine had stayed close behind her, and was an unhappy camper, his head swiveling as he assessed his surroundings and found them lacking. She couldn't blame him; the corridor wasn't the most defensible place, there were too many people around, and as a fugitive the cops had to be giving him the willies. At least something was eating at him. He had a glazed look to his eye that she found worrisome.

 

Zerbrowski gave her a light punch on the arm. "What were you thinking, bringing him here?"

 

Anita grabbed his elbow and guided him towards the Rodere. "I'll explain in the room. We need to talk to the Corporal, fast. The shit pretty much has already hit the fan, and it's only a matter of time before we get sprayed if we don't maneuver right."


	12. Chapter 12

Claudia took one look at the tableau before her, muttered a heartfelt "Jesus WEPT!" and practically bolted away.

 

Fascinated, Jake watched the rather formidable woman hurry down the hallway to the assembled men. No, not ordinary men; wererats. Her people, he supposed; he was going to have to get used to saying things like that considering what he was. She didn't look happy, and in short order neither did the men she was ripping into. Truth be told, he was feeling none to jolly himself. Not that he was overly keen on his future, but he was pretty sure his least happy option was being taken alive and put back into experimentation. Those research geeks weren't intimidating physically, but they had nasty ways to get even that generally involved a lot of pain. And if this was any indication of the level of professionalism he could expect from these troops, he might as well put a silver bullet in his head himself.

 

Not that that didn't have a certain appeal, he grudgingly admitted. To himself, naturally. Saying things like that aloud usually tended to make the people around you very twitchy. Funny that; everyone always said they wanted the truth but were so aghast when they heard it. Jack Nicholson was right. They couldn't handle the truth. Hell, neither could he.

 

He was beginning to give himself a headache. Introspection usually did.

 

And to top it off, he was startled to realize that Anita had finished explaining the situation to the police officer Zerbrowski, and was already hustling him after Claudia. Damn it, he chided himself, he couldn't daydream and lose focus like that. He started after them, lengthening his stride until he was moving parallel and able to offer his two cents. "The corridor's too exposed," he complained fiercely, motioning up and down the hallway. "And they shouldn't all be grouped in front of the doorway." Jake felt antsy. He'd noticed a new dislike to closed in spaces; anywhere that made him feel trapped or closeted. And this place just left them in an untenable position in the event of an attack. "All they could do in the event of an assault is retreat into the room and let themselves be cornered like rats in a trap."

 

Even his own twisted mind found that amusing.

 

And he wasn't alone in his hilarity. The cop, Zerbrowski, snorted at him, and elbowed Anita in the side semi-good naturedly. "Listen to Patton. Guess that part of the APB was correct. He is military." He stared hard at Jake, his clear brown eyes appraising. Measuring. "And just what else, I wonder?"

 

Anita gave him an exasperated shove in return. "Give it a rest, Zee," she chided. "I'm not holding out on you much. He's a shifter, like you knew. He's just not a dangerous, slavering, man eating deserter like his APB no doubt portrayed him." Anita turned back to Jake. "It's not likely there's going to be a pitched battle here, Mr. Reed. They tried assassination, and it didn't work. It doesn't stand to reason that Plan B includes storming the public hospital."

 

Jake shook his head adamantly. "They failed, Ma'am. Failed and got caught. Plan B can and should be any fucking thing they want it to be in order to get the job done." He began ticking scenarios off on his fingers. "Faking a gas leak to create a diversion or to actually blow up the hospital. Late night Special Ops attack to surgically incise the area. Or a simple in your face raid as a matter of `National Security'. Whatever it takes. These guys don't like to lose."

 

Anita looked irritated with him, but at least Zerbrowski concurred. "He's right, Anita. Like I said, they weren't happy. I think he's exaggerating too, but not by much." He dramatically clutched his chest as he continued. "And for the record, when you use words like `much' in sentences like that you make me wish for a gallon jug of Maalox." Zerbrowski glanced up and down the corridor at the movement at each end. "Besides, Claudia thinks so as well, because she's got her troops fanning out to each end of the hallway, and a few of them few scurrying for the elevators."

 

He gave the two of them a level stare. He didn't like leaving things in the hands of civilians, preternatural or not. "I can pull in more men if you like."

 

Anita looked tempted, then reluctantly shook her head no. "Don't. You're only asking for a worse reprimand then you're in for as it is helping us. As of this moment there hasn't been a preternatural crime, unless the government types press charges against the shifted wererat for assault. And since they were the one's attempting murder, I just don't see that happening."

 

"You want me to just leave it in the hands of Raphael?" Zerbrowski protested. "Anita, there was an attempted murder here. And I've got a conscience. I'm reading enough between the lines that I don't want to just take a backseat to whatever's going on."

 

Leave it to Zerbrowski. The man had a heart as open as his face. "Then don't," Anita agreed. "Keep those men behind bars, and protect the evidence. Protect the truth."

 

"That's my job, Anita. To protect and to serve. Everyone." Claudia moved aside as he laid his hand on the door knob. "Let's do this."

 

**********************************************************************

 

Good thing he was still in ICU, Anita thought as she sunk into the only chair in the room. The quarters tended to be larger, and they needed every inch of space it offered. They'd muscled their way in, and when Rogers started at the intrusion, he'd set off a multitude of alarms from the IVs and monitors attached to him. The floor nurse may have only been all of 5' 4", but damn if she was going to risk one of her patients, and when she'd drawn up her petite frame and balked at the horde that had invaded her turf, they'd all adopted cowed expressions and contrite "Yes Ma'am's". Human or not, the woman was an Alpha, when a nurse by God planted her feet and gave you the hairy eyeball, you obeyed. Pronto.

 

Which left Raphael, herself, an unknown wererat, Zerbrowski, and the problem du jour alone with Rogers in the room.

 

Raphael broke the silence first. "Anita, I greet you and welcome your presence," he said warmly, taking her hands. "And you, my unknown friend, are a lucky man," he said to Reed, a cryptic smile on his face.

 

Lucky. Not something he would describe himself as. Screwed blue maybe, but not lucky. "How so, Sir?" he asked politely. You didn't piss people off when you were in uncertain territory, and right now he had no idea what kind of game was being played here. And from the perplexed look she was wearing, neither did Anita.

 

Raphael laughed as he released Anita's hands and moved back to the bedside. "Very diplomatic of you. I only meant that the one person you turned to for help could have easily been your death as your salvation."

 

And the conversation remained clear as mud. "I'm sorry, but I'm not tracking you," Reed replied honestly, confusion writ across his face.

 

Raphael cocked his head at him and his smile faded slightly. "Anita. I am referring to Anita. Surely you know who she is?"

 

I don't even know WHAT she is, let alone who…. "No," Jake answered hesitantly. "Should I?"

 

"Raphael…" Anita warned.

 

Raphael shook his head gently. "No Anita, I am not being cruel. I assumed the young man was aware of your notoriety as The Executioner. At the very least he ought to know your reputation."

 

It finally clicked with Jake, and he marveled at his idiocy. Anita Blake, Vampire Executioner and other things. She was headline news for her kills and associations even before he'd been cloistered away in the Pentagon's little chamber of horrors. She killed bad little vampires.

 

And bad little shifters.

 

Well fuck. He guessed the Raphael guy was a fan of irony. "I guess I am fortunate in a way then," Jake answered thoughtfully, giving Anita a piercing look.

 

Anita shrugged, unsettled by the unexpected conversation turn. "I guess my job was lucky for you. It's how I suspected something wasn't kosher. No order of execution on you, and I always get those in this area." She gave him an encouraging smile to blunt the news. Something about the way Reed was looking at her made her uncomfortable. Sad. Like he was filing her legal executioner status away for future reference.

 

No time to get into that now, and she quickly got the discussion back on track. "None of this is relevant, Raphael. I need to talk to the Corporal, and I need answers; will you help?"

 

Raphael shook his head in agreement. "Please, go ahead, Anita. I am somewhat aware of the situation from Claudia, and its urgency is not lost to me. It is why I welcomed you."

 

Anita turned to the wary man on the bed. He got points for nerves; he'd been silent through the entire goings on. Probably his smartest move at this point, she admitted. As far as he had to be concerned, she was the rock, the government was the hard place, and his injured behind was smack in-between them. "I know your hurt, Corporal, but we need information and as soon as we can we need to move you to a safer, more discreet, location."

 

Raphael raised a cautionary hand. "It must be understood, Anita, that this man is under our protection, at the request of his brother," he indicated the as yet named shifter by Rogers bedside, "as well as the leader of the Wererats of Columbus. I can appreciate your desire to protect him, but he is my responsibility and not that of the vampires or wolves."

 

Anita massaged her neck to relieve the pent up irritation that wanted to explode. Diplomacy was just not her forte. "Give me a break here, Raphael. I understand responsibility, and I don't intend to infringe on your word, but you have to admit the Circus, with your Rats in abundance as bodyguards, fits all our needs perfectly. You will be able to monitor his safety, and we will be there to render aid and assistance."

 

Raphael relaxed his posture, an overt sign that he was aware she was on edge and was backing down to give her space. "Very well. If it is agreeable to Michael and his brother, I will arrange for his transfer to the Circus. Health concerns permitting."

 

So the wererat had a name. He shrugged a silver gray shoulder and laid a finely articulated paw on Rogers head. "Any place but here is agreeable. I can't defend him here, and soon I will have to shift and be incapacitated. If I can't move him far away then a fortress would be my next choice. And this Circus sounds like a fortress."

 

That gave Zerbrowski a chuckle. He seemed to be the only one finding amusement in the evenings proceedings. "If anyone cares about my opinion, it's the closest thing to a safe haven he'll have," he opined. "I wouldn't want to assault it. Practically everything and anything that goes bump in the night resides or visits there. He'll be safer than what RPIT can keep him." He left unspoken the fact that RPIT probably couldn't protect him all the way. Not from military law, anyway.

 

Michael ruffled his brother's sweaty hair. Ultimately, it was his decision. "Dwayne?"

 

Dwayne shrugged tiredly. "Whatever you think, bro. I'm too out of my element here. You say move, I move."

 

Anita let loose a sigh of relief. "Good. But until that point no one goes in your room that hasn't already been in here doctor and hospital staff wise, and as soon as our own doctor's feel you can be transported, we'll do it. I'm assuming Lillian is on her way, Raphael?"

 

"Correct. She had an emergency call to Narcissus in Chains, and will be here as soon as feasible."

 

Anita clapped her hands. "Well, yay, we got something settled. Now can we get to the part where the Corporal provides us with the information we desperately need about where he was last night, and why he was driving for all intents an undercover ambulance?"

 

All eyes turned back to the bandaged man on the bed.

 

Rogers sighed in frustration. He knew they would get to this, just like he knew they were going to be pissed by his response. "My apologies, but I can't answer you, Ma'am. I signed a non-disclosure, and I have no approval from a senior ranking officer to divulge any information about any mission I may have been on."

 

Anita crossed her arms like an irate schoolteacher. "Even though you know what they were doing? What was going on there?"

 

Rogers looked away uncomfortably. "Not officially, no. But yeah, I've guessed."

 

"And you do recall that they tried to kill you tonight?" she continued sarcastically.

 

"Yes Ma'am," Rogers answered miserably. "And failed. Look, maybe I don't have much of a life in the Corp anymore, but if I want to have any chance at a life at all I'm going to have to keep my trap shut."

 

"And if the people at this experimental hell hole are executed?" Anita spat back. "Because no one who could help them could find them? Are you going to be able to live with yourself knowing that, even if you happen to beat the snowball's chance odds you have and live through this yourself? Even after everything all the shifters here and in Columbus have done for you?"

 

An angry chittering interrupted her tirade and six foot plus of angry gray rat was suddenly in her face. "Back off, lady. Now. I don't care who you are, but Dwayne's in no shape to handle this kind of assault. Give him time."

 

Too close, Anita's mind breathed to her senses. He was too close and too aggressive, and she instinctively yanked her Browning out and held it two handed. If he wanted to play ugly, she could play ugly. "Time? No one else has that luxury, Mikey boy! I don't have time! THEY don't have time!"

 

Apparently ice water for blood ran in the family. Michael was unimpressed by the firepower, she noticed. He hadn't backed down an inch. A brother's love, she supposed. "I don't give a shit about anyone but Dwayne! They were there for a reason, lady. If they bit off more than they could chew that's their problem."

 

Raphael raised placating hands, his expression pained. "Anita, please. Your normal aggressive technique isn't going to work here, and if Nurse Ratchet discovers a handgun in her hospital she will throw us all out, who we are be damned." He pulsed a little of his power through the room. "And Michael, you do not threaten friends of the Rodere in this city. Apologize."

 

Michael stepped back involuntarily, then ducked his head and nibbled along the fur of his arm in agitation. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. But he's my baby brother."

 

Anita holstered her Dual Mode, a bit red in the face herself that she'd let the situation escalate that far. "I'm sorry too, Michael. I shouldn't have been so damn pushy. It's just we need that info."

 

Interestingly, Rogers, the baby brother in question, had ignored most of the sniping, his attention solely on Jake, who had stayed frozen at the back of the room as soon as he'd seen the gun. "I'm glad to see you made it, Sir," he said quietly. "You scared me there for a while."

 

Jake pushed off the wall and held his hand out Rogers. "I don't think we've ever been formally introduced. Jake Reed, Master Sergeant, United States Marine Corp. Retired, involuntarily, so to speak."

 

"Dwayne Rogers, Corporal, USMC, and about to experience the same sort of retirement package I expect. I hear the bennies suck. But thanks for saving my life."

 

"I owe you mine as well. And about the only kindness I'd seen for a long time." Jake gave him an odd look. "I just hope I was worth the hassle."

 

Rogers opened his mouth to reply, but his brother cut him off. "He saved your life, Dwayne? He's the wolf who pulled you out of the wreck?"

 

Rogers nodded. "Yeah, and scared the living shit out of me as well. I thought I was dead from the accident, then when he pulled me out of the vehicle, I thought he'd smell the blood and think I was one of the ones who'd hurt him." Rogers shifted and grimaced, still sore and hurting from his injuries and overdue for a pain shot. "You could have just left me. Hell, I wouldn't have blamed you if he did."

 

"I couldn't leave a man down," Jake explained. "And you'd helped me. I knew that even drugged up and shifting like I was. Just goes to show you how fucked up that place was."

 

"Yeah, Sarge. You were like a mutt that wouldn't leave. Had to throw shit at you to get you to run, you were so intent on staying by me like Lassie on Timmy." He grinned at Jake's stunned, confused look. "What? Don't remember that part?"

 

"No, just surprised I…just surprised is all."

 

Rogers chewed his lower lip for a second, then turned to his brother. "The lady's talking sense, bro. It's not right. Not what they did to him, or anyone else they have there. Not what they tried to do to me."

 

Black button eyes bored into him. "You know what your saying, Dwayne? What that means for you then?"

 

Rogers looked as his brother, and the assembled wererats who had come to his aid just because Mike had asked for help. There was a code there, a camaraderie that he recognized. If they hadn't intervened, he had no doubt that he'd be `disappeared' at this point. Collateral damage in a game of destroy the evidence.

 

There was only one option he could live with. "Yeah, I know the score. By telling them, I'm going to be court martialed if they get a hold of me. When they get a hold of me, because I won't hide behind you or your friends and bring the wrath of the Pentagon down on them." He was going to be in more trouble than he could imagine, and he flat didn't care. It felt good to do the right thing. "Yes ma'am, I'll tell you all I can, including my orders and the directions as I remember them, but they wouldn't be perfect. It would be best if I took you there."

 

Mike growled, and slashed the air in disagreement. "No way, bro. If you aren't in any condition to move to a safe house, you aren't in any condition to play guide dog to them. And it's going to be ugly when they get there. I'm not letting you go into harms way like that foolishly."

 

Anita was already yelling out in the corridor for a map. "He's right, Corporal. There is no need. Get us close and we will find them."

 

Rogers nodded in defeat. He wasn't moving anywhere, but he'd felt compelled to offer. Stupid overdeveloped moral code. "Map it is then. I'll backtrack you best as I can from where we crashed on 40. When you get to the place, it's a just an unmarked warehouse and easy to miss. Minimal guards outside; I saw none as we drove in but I wasn't exactly looking and it was misty. But that kind of detail, they're looking to keep what's locked up inside staying inside. They won't be expecting an outside attack. Anyone patrolling would be doing it to hustle away hunters and hikers."

 

He gave Anita a pleading look. "One thing I have to ask. I know this is a rescue mission, and I know you probably don't give a rat's ass about the people running the place, but the marines there are just following orders. The lieutenant I saw was a stand up guy, and wasn't very happy about being there. I know I have no right, but try to talk to them. They don't deserve to get killed anymore than the poor men being held there."

 

Anita stripped off her jacket and began to take stock of her weaponry. "We aren't looking to kill anyone, Corporal. We'll do our best to talk it through. But if it comes to a fight, they're going to get one…"


End file.
